


Make My Wish Come True (all i want for christmas is you)

by chicklette



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Baker!Steve Rogers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Christmas fic, Engineer!Bucky Barnes, Getting Together, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, a year in the life, background Clintasha, pining like a forest, tags will update as appropriate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 08:24:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16783270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette
Summary: Steve's spent his whole life pining for Bucky Barnes.  Why should this year be any different?A Holiday fic that begins on New Year's Eve and wraps up on Christmas Day.





	1. January

**Author's Note:**

> A short holiday fic that will post every other dayish, from 11/30 - 12/25. Chapter titles inspired by songs from the soundtrack for Love, Actually. Bits of plot and dialogue shamelessly stolen from the film, but you don't need to have seen the movie to read the fic - it's not really a crossover or mashup.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trouble with love is it’ll tear you up inside. - Kelly Clarkson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love and many thanks to alittleblackfox, for her quick and kind beta efforts. All mistakes are mine.

“3...2...1...Happy New Year!!” The crowd at Stark’s annual New Year’s Eve party erupts into cheers and laughter. Steve takes a smiling sip of his champagne, toasting the crowd of friends and acquaintances around him, before letting his eyes drift to Bucky. 

Tall and breathtaking, he has Carlie wrapped up in his arms, and is smiling into a kiss. His hair is a little long on the top, and there’s the ever-present line of scruff around his jaw. He’s wearing a wine-colored shirt and a black vest, and Carlie can’t keep her eyes off of him. It sets off a series of emotions in Steve, as always. He’s filled with genuine happiness for his friend, and yet the bitter barbs of jealousy wind through that happiness, crushing what should be a good, pure emotion. 

Steve hates it. He hates that he can’t just be happy for Bucky.

He forces himself to look away, frowning into his champagne glass. He kept his promise. He came, stayed for dinner, stuck it out through the terrible karaoke, danced with a few people, and stayed through the new year. Relief washes over him when he realizes that he’s free to go home. He knows Bucky’s doing everything he can to include Steve in his plans; he always does. But this is a new year, and a new beginning, and he doesn’t want to spend it eating his heart out.

Turning to leave, he almost runs into Natasha, one of Bucky’s coworkers. She works in R&D with Bucky, and the two became fast friends when Bucky was assigned to train her on the ins and outs of their department. It wasn’t long before Nat became a regular fixture in their social circle, along with a few other coworkers, friends from college, and Bucky’s sister, Becca.

“Hey,” Steve says. “Happy New Year, Natasha.” He leans forward to give her a kiss on the cheek.

Her smile is soft and beautiful. Steve once wondered if Bucky and Nat would ever start something, but meeting Nat’s boyfriend, Clint, disabused him of that notion. Natasha may play her cards close to her chest, but her feelings for Clint are written all over her face.

“Happy New Year,” she says, and returns the kiss. “Enjoying the festivities?”

Steve gives her a rueful smile. “Not really my scene,” he says.

The smile she offers is sympathetic, and not entirely what Steve is expecting. It makes him wonder just how transparent he really is. “Is it...are you in love with her?” Natasha asks, eyes on Carlie.

“What?” Steve sputters a laugh, full of disbelief. 

“I just...thought I would ask, in case no one has, and you wanted to talk about it.”

“No,” Steve says, relieved that he can give Nat an honest answer. “I am not in love with Carlie.”

“Okay,” she says, but gives him a studying look. “Then what... _oh._ ”

Steve watches her face fall, suddenly filled with sympathy. Pity.

God, sometimes he hates himself.

“Does he know?” she asks.

Steve shakes his head, unable to hide his own misery. “No. And he’s never going to,” he answers, a stern look on his face. “Promise me, Nat.”

She nods, curls bobbing, sympathy coloring her face. “Just,” she starts, reaching out to take his arm. “I can be a good friend, if you need one. Remember that, Steve.”

Biting his lip, he nods. “Thanks, Nat. I’m gonna get out of here. Will you tell him I went home?”

“Sure. Take care of yourself. And--Happy New Year, Steve.”

“Happy New Year, Nat. Tell Clint I said hi.”

She nods, letting him go with a sad smile. 

Walking to the subway station, Steve turns the conversation over and over in his mind. After all this time…. He’s hit with a sudden jolt of giddiness. He’s been carrying the secret of his love for Bucky Barnes for years now. Years. He can’t think of a time that he ever didn’t love Bucky, in one way or another.

When he was seven, his mother took him to a coworker’s wedding. The night before, she’d explained what a wedding was, and what a marriage meant. The next day, he’d watched, face solemn, as the happy couple exchanged their vows, then kissed, to the wild applause of everyone in the church. 

“So,” Sarah said, driving home that night. “Do you think you ever want to get married someday?” 

“Of course, Mama,” Steve replied. “I’m going to marry Bucky!”

“You are?”

“Yep! You said that a marriage is between two people who love each other more than anyone else. That’s Bucky.”

Sarah, laughed, indulgent. “Well, don’t be surprised if you grow up and change your mind.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Oh, sometimes feelings change when you get older. You might find you want to be closer with someone else.”

“That’s dumb. Ain’t no one better than Bucky.”

“Isn’t anyone,” Sarah corrected. “And just...keep an open mind, baby.”

Years later, Sarah watched as Steve’s admiration grew into attraction, which grew into love. They never talked about it, but that didn’t mean it didn’t break her heart to see her son so desperately in love with his best friend.

And now Nat knows. 

It’s enough to make him feel a little bit high, because, because...oh, God. What if Bucky finds out? What if after all this time, Steve is forced to confront his feelings, forced to live with them here, in the real world? 

What if?

He thinks of the dull ache, there behind his ribs, when he watches Bucky with his latest love, be it Carlie or Michael or Jamie. Bucky falls for each of them the way he always has: head first and whole hearted, giving everything he’s got to the object of his affections. It’s one of the things that Steve loves best about him, even though it hurts to watch it happen, time and time again.

With a sigh, he takes the stairs down to the subway platform. 

He can only hope that Bucky will never find out. Anything else would be a disaster.


	2. February

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am what I am, and I do what I want. - Dido

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to alittleblackfox for her quick and lovely beta skills. All errors are mine.

“I can’t believe she broke up with you,” Steve says. He contemplates the lacing of foam that his beer left on the glass before taking another sip. He’s maybe had one too many, but it also feels like he hasn’t had quite enough. 

“Right?” Bucky asks, contemplating his own beer. “Why‘m I so bad at this?”

“What?” Steve says, sloshing his beer onto the bar. “You’re not. You are not. You are...not bad. This was her. All her crazy. I mean, you were only together for six months. Who does that?”

“I know,” Bucky says, blue eyes earnest. Judging from the way his voice is growing a little slurry, Bucky’s probably had one too many as well. “S’not my fault. How’m I ‘sposed to know if I wanna marry her. I hardly knew her!”

It’s true, and objectively, yes, Carlie was definitely moving too fast. After watching her baby sister get married at Christmas, Carlie was looking for the promise of a commitment from Bucky. Bucky. Steve’s Bucky. Steve’s Bucky who’d never had any relationship last longer than a year, tops. 

“Seriously though,” Bucky says, leaning on one elbow to look over at Steve. “This is bullshit. M’never gonna find anyone. Spencer had it right. M’gonna be alone f’rever.”

Bucky had dated Spencer Thomas for all of eight months before Spencer called it quits.

“You never let me in,” Spencer said. 

“I don’t even know what that means,” he’d later told Steve. 

Steve shrugged at him helplessly. A small, mean part of him was glad he wouldn’t have to watch Spencer and Bucky together, the way Spencer seemed to cling to Bucky. The other part though was sorry that Bucky was unhappy. Because at the end of the day, what Steve wanted most was Bucky’s happiness. He just wishes he could be the one making him happy. 

“You’re not going to be alone forever,” Steve says, signalling the bartender for another round. “You’re a great catch, Buck. Anyone would be happy to have you.”

Bucky sighs, and Steve continues to mumble encouragement, slinging his arm around Bucky’s shoulders.

“Hey,” Bucky says, perking up. “I still have reservations at that paella pop-up for Valentine’s Day. What’d’ya say, Stevie? Wanna be my Valentine?”

Steve takes in Bucky, his bright eyes, soft with booze and shiny with excitement, that boyish grin that Steve’s been swooning over since he was fifteen and realized what that swimmy sensation in his stomach meant, and the light scruff at his jawline. Steve’s fantasized about having that scruff under his tongue more times than he can count. 

God, how will he ever say no to Bucky Barnes? He can’t. Hell, he doesn’t want to.

“Why not?” Steve replies, his smile genuine and a little bit painful. “Beats doing nothing all night, right?”

“Right,” Bucky says. 

The bartender drops another round in front of them, and they contemplate their booze. 

“Wait,” Bucky says, perking up again. “Weren’t you seeing someone? David...Dillon?”

“Derek,” Steve says, and then shakes his head. “And no. I ended it when I found out he didn’t vote.”

Bucky laughs. Of the two of them, Steve has always been the crusader, with Bucky taking his side and having his back, no matter the cause.

“Jesus,” Bucky says. “We’re gonna end up spinsters.”

“Haha,” Steve says, not wanting to acknowledge that Bucky might be right. 

It’s just...no one else is quite like Bucky. And even when Steve convinces himself that he should try with someone, it usually isn’t long before the inevitable comparisons begin to circle through his brain: Bucky would have laughed at that joke, or remembered that Steve hates sugar in his coffee, but won’t drink it at all without a little half and half. Bucky knows that Steve hates walnuts and loves pecans and that he thinks marzipan is the most disgusting thing he’s ever tasted, and he’s eaten ass, thank you very much. No matter what he tries, he can’t get Bucky out of his head. His heart. 

Nobody else stands a chance, but at least Steve still tries. 

He can’t hold on to this one-sided love forever, can he?

.

When Steve gets to the pop-up a few weeks later, he finds a glum Bucky in place of his usually boisterous friend. Steve drops a bag of Bucky’s favorite cookies - thick shortbreads with ground pecans and sanding sugar - in front of him. They’re heart shaped, but that doesn’t mean anything. It’s Valentine’s Day, afterall. And Steve  _ is _ a baker. Still, Bucky barely cracks a smile. 

They’re seated and make it through the appetizers, but Steve can tell that Bucky’s heart just isn’t in it, which in turn dampens his own enjoyment. 

Of the two of them, Bucky’s always been the more adventurous eater. He’d once told Steve that he wanted to try everything at least twice. Steve, on the other hand, had a more staid palate, but more often than not, he joins Bucky on his culinary adventures, playing sous chef to Bucky’s master. While the recipes don’t always come out great, the two of them always have fun.

Now though, watching the way that Bucky picks at his food, Steve realizes that the last thing Bucky needs is this reminder of his latest failed relationship.

Flagging the waiter, Steve asks for their food to go.

“Steve?” Bucky asks. “Everything ok?”

“Not by a mile,” Steve answers. “C’mon, we’re getting out of here.”

They settle the tab and while they’re on the subway, Steve pulls out his phone, arranging for a delivery of the necessary supplies. 

By the time they get to Bucky’s apartment, the delivery man is there. He has bags of chips and candy, sodas, beer, and ice cream. 

“What’s all this?” Bucky asks, taking in the bags as Steve sets them on the dining room table. 

“This,” Steve replies, “is Mission: Cheer Up Barnes.”

When Bucky looks at him, Steve’s smile softens. “Look, having dinner at some fancy place was only reminding you of Carlie. Let’s just hang out, Buck. We can watch terrible romcoms and make fun of them. You love that.”

Grinning, Bucky says, “Yeah, I do.”

An hour later, they’re both laughing in delight at the contrived plot of the movie. Still thirty minutes after that, they’re both pretending not to tear up as the hero dashes through the airport, trying to stop his lady love before she boards her plane and leaves his life forever. 

“This is terrible,” Bucky says, his fingers stained orange from Cheetos and several pieces of popcorn littering his shirt.

“I know,” Steve agrees. He’s polishing off the last of the Butter Pecan ice cream, taking slow licks from the spoon and closing his eyes to savor it. 

Bucky makes an odd noise and Steve looks over to find him staring. 

“Okay Buck?” he ask, talking around the salty sweet confection.

Blinking, Bucky shakes his head. “Yeah, sorry. Popcorn,” he says.

When the movie’s over, Steve stretches and stands. 

“Alright,” he says. “I’ve got an early morning, so I’m gonna get out of here. You gonna be okay?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna be just fine, Steve. You don’t gotta take care of me.”

Steve shrugs. “Wasn’t doing anything else tonight. Besides, someone’s gotta keep your ass in line.”

“You know, you might’ve gotten bigger, Rogers, but I can still take you.”

“Please. I bench press jerks like you for breakfast.”

It’s an old, inside joke from when Steve was a scrawny little thing. Bucky hit puberty early and hard, shaving the fuzz from his upper lip when they were freshmen. It took Steve a while to catch up, though eventually he did, surpassing Bucky in height and weight. But Steve never forgot what it felt like to be tucked into Bucky’s side, and he took to ribbing Bucky often in order to make it happen, again and again. It was years before he understood why he was so eager for Bucky’s touch, but even then, he couldn’t make himself stop.

Bucky cracks at the same time Steve does, the two of them falling into each other with laughter.

“You’re a punk,” Bucky says, giving Steve a quick hug before letting go. 

“Jerk,” Steve replies, voice warm with affection. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Buck.”

“Same to you. Hey? Same time next year?”

“If I don’t get a better offer,” Steve replies with a wink.

“Oh, then it’s a date,” Bucky says, and the pair break into laughter again. “Go on, get outta here,” he says, pulling Steve in for one last hug. 

Steve relaxes into it, letting himself have the feel of Bucky warm and close, reveling in the way he smells, all clean laundry and fresh snowfall. It’s a scent that means home, and his heart does a double beat, there in his chest. 

Bucky gives him one last squeeze, and says “Thanks for being my Valentine,” soft and low, like a secret between just them. 

As he makes his way to the subway station, Steve doesn’t think about how Bucky is his best friend, and just how wrong it is to feel this way about him. Instead, he thinks about the smell of fresh laundry and snowfall, clean and pure, and warm hugs from a man that fits into Steve’s arms like he was made for it. 


	3. March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loving you's the right thing to do, and I'll see it through. - Texas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to alittleblackfox, who beta'd with a quickness. I tinkered after the fact; All errors are mine.

“This was so great, Steve. Thanks.” Bucky sloshes his way to his front door, leaning against the door jamb while he tries to get his key into the lock. 

Chuckling, Steve takes the keys and opens the door, ushering Bucky inside. 

They’d met up with most of their group of friends for Bucky’s birthday brunch, and Bucky is more than a little day-drunk. It was fine, he'll nap off the booze and sober up in time for dinner with folks. He and Steve are planning to go over together in a couple of hours. Mama B is making her famous fried chicken, and neither Steve nor Bucky is willing to miss out. 

Bucky walks to the couch and plops down, one leg on, one leg off. His hair is tousled and his shirt is riding up, baring a sliver of golden skin. Steve catalogues the sight and files it away, turning off the part of his brain that  _ wants. _

“One more year ‘til your Dirty Thirty,” Steve says, lounging on the loveseat opposite Bucky. 

Bucky stretches, then rolls to his side to look at Steve. “Yeah. Hey, you wanna do something together? Maybe do a trip or something?”

“For your birthday?” Steve asks. It’s not that they never do stuff like that together, but Bucky’s more of a...fly by the seat of his pants kind of guy. Big gestures, planning, that’s not Bucky’s style at all. 

“Yeah,” he says. His voice is soft and muzzy. Steve can practically hear the yawn in it. “Next spring. We’ll do Vegas, or Mexico. I don’t know.”

“Don’t you want to get through this birthday first?” Steve asks, amused. Whatever’s got Bucky so forward thinking, it’s unusual. 

“Let’s do both, he says, rolling onto his back. “We’ll do Vegas for mine and, fuck, Hawaii for yours. Neither of us knows Spanish.”

Steve studies Bucky, the way his mouth is pouty, and the little furrow between his brows.

“You okay?” Steve asks. “Already planning your midlife crisis?”

“You don’t wanna do a trip with me?” Bucky asks. There’s something in his voice, the way it’s flat and resigned, that makes Steve want to gather Bucky into his arms and hold him until all of his unhappiness goes away.

“What?” Steve asks. “No, let’s do it. I’ll get some info, send out a group email.”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah, okay, Steve.”

“Hey, what’s wrong? You didn’t have a good time today? You got a ton of cool stuff.”

Rolling to his side again, he looks at Steve. His face is blank, no trace of a smile, and it catches Steve off guard. He thought they’d been having a good day.

“What’s wrong, Buck?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just blinks, then rolls onto his back. “Nothing,” he finally says. “‘M’being an asshole.”

“Did I do something?”

Snorting, Bucky says, “Not a thing.”

“Dude, what the fuck?”

Bucky sighs, and brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “S’nothing, Steve. Just--I’m gonna have a nap.”

Throughout their lives, Bucky has been the optimist of the two of them. Steve was the one who looked at the world and saw all the things that needed fixing, all the disparity and unfairness, and Steve was the one who always fought to make it better. Bucky tended to look for the good, seek the brighter side, always with an eye toward progress. It’s part of what made him so successful at Stark Industries--his failures never kept him down, and he always learned something for his next try. 

So to see him being so--cranky is the only word Steve can come up with--it’s so far out of character that Steve is having trouble making sense of it. 

“Buck, if you got a problem with me, you gotta tell me about it. I can’t read your mind.”

And--Steve should know better. He should know that when Bucky’s in a mood, to just leave him alone and get over it. But Steve Rogers has never been one to back down from a fight, and this wouldn’t be the first time he’s had a brawl with Bucky. They might be past actual fisticuffs now, but when they were kids, both of their mothers had to clean them up after their tempers flared, and the boys turned on one another. 

Bucky turns to him, and Steve can see the irritation in his eyes. The annoyance, but under that, he can see that Bucky’s hurt. Steve just has no idea about what.

Sitting up, Bucky leans over, resting his elbows on his knees. He scrubs a hand through his hair and then looks at Steve, a little of the defiance melting away, but Steve can still see the tension in the line of his neck, the set of his shoulders, his arms. 

“I know when I was dating Carlie I wasn’t around a much,” he says. “And I know I missed a couple of game nights and stuff.”

Steve shrugs. “I mean...that’s what happens when you start seeing someone, Buck. You gotta make space for them in your life.”

Tipping his head down, Bucky breathes deep, and Steve can see it was the wrong thing to say.

Bucky mumbles something and Steve wonders just how drunk his friend is. When he gets too far in the bag, Bucky becomes a little maudlin, and that’s the last thing Steve wants today. It’s his birthday. Steve just wants him to be happy. 

Getting up, he crosses the room to sit next to Bucky, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Buck?”

“I said I don’t want to be those people - those people who don’t know each other and who are only friends because they’ve always been friends. I wanna actually  _ be _ friends, Steve. Don’t you? Don’t you wanna?”

He turns to look at Steve and Steve is just...devastated. He’s devastated. The look in Bucky’s eyes is hurt and confused and Steve tightens his grip around his shoulders because nothing--not one thing in this  _ world _ \--should make Bucky Barnes look like  _ that. _

Racking his brain, Steve tries to understand what brought this on. True, they’ve been seeing a little less of each other, but Bucky knows how busy the bakery gets at the holidays, and it doesn’t really let up until Valentine’s is done. The last few weeks have been calmer, but Easter is just around the corner. 

He wonders if he’s been subconsciously pulling away, but then he thinks no. He’s spent the last six weeks working on Bucky’s birthday present. The only other person that he’s put that kind of effort in for was his own mother. 

“What brought this on?” he asks, squeezing Bucky’s shoulder. 

Bucky turns into Steve, burying his face in Steve’s chest. It’s the kind of move that usually makes Steve uncomfortable, because it’s  _ too  _ comfortable, but right now his worry outweighs his discomfort. When Bucky mumbles something into Steve’s chest, Steve pulls away to better understand him.

“You gave me a gift card for my birthday,” he repeats, eyes downcast. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”

“What?” Steve asks, hysteria bubbling into his voice.

“Sam gives me gift cards. You - you give me awesome presents. You give me best friend presents. And this year you gave me a gift card.”

If the pout in his voice wasn’t so adorable, Steve would be laughing so hard he’d have tears in his eyes. As it is…

“I gave you a gift card because you said you were saving up for a new Xbox!”

“I know!” Bucky says. “But it’s a gift card! From you!”

Steve laughs. “What were you expecting?”

“From the guy who took me skydiving last year? Not that!”

Looking at Bucky, Steve can see the six year old kid he was when they first met - pouting and bewildered and ready to fight. Steve wonders if he ever stood a chance against Bucky Barnes. 

He can’t hold his laughter any longer, and when he starts, Bucky scowls at him. 

“Alright,” Steve says. “I wanted to wait until after dinner, but--go look in your office.”

The way Bucky lights up, Steve knows he made the right choice. “Go on,” he says, giving Bucky’s shoulder another squeeze.

Bucky stands up and walks to his office, returning a few minutes later with a large, flat package wrapped in plain brown paper.

“Becca put it there when we were out this morning. I was gonna have you open it tonight, after dinner.”

“What did you do?” Bucky asks, voice tinged with wonder and anticipation. The package is obviously something framed. 

Bucky sits on the loveseat with it, all lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. 

“Open it up,” Steve says, and watches with a smile as Bucky does. 

When it’s unwrapped, Bucky holds it in front of him, eyes wide. Steve had hoped for a big grin, but what he gets is the very rare sight of Bucky Barnes trying to hide his emotions. He shifts, pressing his chin to his shoulder, face away from Steve. 

When he looks back, his eyes are bright and shiny. 

“It’s--” Steve starts.

“The view from my bedroom window, at my folk’s place.” 

Steve can hear the emotion in Bucky’s voice. He was going for pretty good; he is not prepared for--for this.

Bucky’s fingers trail over the glass, reverential. The scene depicts a busy Brooklyn street: Stefano’s corner market, with Mr. Pearlman walking inside; Mrs. Davis’s cat, Figaro, chasing a butterfly down the street; Becca on the front stoop playing with a doll; and there, in the corner, a dark haired boy and a tow-headed boy, playing stickball in the street. 

“I love it,” Bucky breathes, eyes taking in every detail. “I love it,” he says, more emphatically. 

Steve’s heart swells so fierce in his chest that he has to rub over where it beats, just to remain grounded. 

The silence plays out, Bucky’s eyes never leaving the painting, Steve’s never leaving Bucky’s face. 

Finally, Bucky sets it down, and wipes away a tear. “You are such a fucking asshole,” he says, still not looking at Steve. 

“Happy birthday, jerk,” Steve says. He thinks of all the nights he’d spent working on the painting, the reference photos he’d taken on the sly, the hundred tiny details that he’s hidden within the art, and then he looks at Bucky’s face. 

It was worth every second. 


	4. April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like a flower waiting to bloom. -Norah Jones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many gracious thanks and a heaping dose of baked goods to alittleblackfox, who beta'd and pointed out alll my errors. I fussed after the fact, so all errors are mine. Also big thanks to Frosty and Goldblooded, both of whom hold my hand and are just the loveliest humans. <3 I appreciate you so much!

“Someone got promoted!” Bucky’s voice sing-songs over the line. 

“Yeah?” Steve replies. “Tell Natasha I said congratulations.”

“Fuck off,” Bucky says, but Steve can hear the laughter in his voice. “We’re doing drinks at Delancy’s, around six. Come out with us.”

“I dunno,” Steve says. “I got work in the morning. Gotta get my beauty sleep.”

“Steeevie,” Bucky whines, and Steve has to cover a laugh. 

Steve heaves a sigh. “I guess I could come for one drink. Maybe.”

“Shut up, loser,” Bucky says. “And, hey, call Sam? I gotta get back to my adoring fans.”

“Translation: they’re having cake in the breakroom.”

Bucky’s laugh tells Steve he’s right, and he chuckles as he hangs up the phone and then texts Sam. It’s only two in the afternoon, so he lays down on the couch to try to squeeze in a nap. Knowing their friends, Steve’s gonna be lucky to get any sleep before he has to turn up at the bakery tomorrow at 4. 

Still, he loves his job. He loves the smell of fresh bread, warm and sweet. He loves kneading the bread, shaping the dough, and getting perfect ears on his boules. He loves cutting and decorating the cookies, making each one into a small work of art. At the end of the morning, he loves to stand back to admire the mostly-empty cases, knowing that his work is being enjoyed, maybe even at that moment, by someone. 

That said, his hours don’t always jibe with that of the rest of his friends. He knows he’ll have to leave before everyone else, and even then, he’ll be dragging through the entire next day. 

_ Worth it, _ he thinks later that night, watching Bucky toss back shots with Nat, Clint, Wanda, Pietro, and Sam. Sam’s brought a girl, Misty, and Steve isn’t the least bit surprised when the two of them skirt out early. It’s nice though, watching Sam so relaxed and happy. 

“Dance with me,” Bucky says, holding his hand out to Nat. 

She dips her head and demures, so Bucky ends up dancing with Wanda, then her brother Pietro, and once with Clint, who does a sort of grotesque running man thing that has the whole table in stitches. Steve’s seen Clint parkour through Time Square without breaking a sweat: he has no doubt that Clint is playing it up for laughs. 

Bucky is all smiles and gregariousness. He laughs and jokes, yelling at times to be heard over the loud music, and won’t stop pulling friends away for dances. He finally gets to Steve, but Steve pulls away. No matter how much Bucky tries, he’s never been able to teach Steve to move to the music, at least, not with the kind of grace and style that Bucky displays. 

“C’mon, Steve,” Bucky says. He’s leaning over the table, with Steve’s hand in one of his own, tugging and pleading with those blue, blue eyes. 

Steve laughs. “You don’t need me embarrassing you out there.”

“Aw, c’mon. No one cares about your two left feet, punk.”

“Buck,” Steve says, but he knows it’s a lost cause. “Alright,” he says, rising from their table to join Bucky on the dance floor.

They weave through the crowd of people, Bucky holding tight to Steve’s hand, and Steve? He is reveling in it. It brings up butterflies in his stomach, knowing that in a few seconds, he’ll be moving with a happy, sweating, breathless Bucky. The part of him that knows how wrong this is shut up three shots ago. Right now he’s just feeling loose and happy. 

As they take the floor, Steve tries out his dance moves, all patiently trained and honed by Bucky. He holds his arms at his sides and tries to rock to the beat, watching Bucky’s feet, his hips, trying to follow along.

A moment later, though, the beat changes and a new song comes on, something slow and sultry and before Steve can move, Bucky’s right up in his space, pulling Steve close. He puts a hand on Steve’s hip and another over Steve’s shoulder. It takes Steve’s brain a second to adjust, but then he copies Bucky and lets himself be led. 

“Is this the secret?” Bucky asks, leaning close enough for Steve to feel his breath. “All we had to do was get a slow dance, and you move just fine.” 

“I--I guess, I--” Steve’s heart is right up in his throat, blocking out all of his words. 

Then Bucky shifts closer and rests his head on Steve’s shoulder and it feels like--it feels--God, it feels  _ right. _ It’s the simplest thing, so natural, to slide his hand around to the small of Bucky’s back, taking the lead and guiding him through the simple dance. Bucky sighs and brings his arms around Steve’s neck, and then they’re dancing cheek to cheek and Steve’s - he just - he might  _ die _ , right here on this dancefloor. 

“Buck,” he says, throat tight. He can’t help the way his fingers press in, gripping Bucky closer. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say next, but he’s sure it won’t be good. He wants to ask  _ what are you doing? _ And  _ why now? _ And  _ do you mean it? _

But then Bucky pulls away and smiles at him, blue eyes dancing in the dim light. “Knew I’d make a dancer of you,” he says, then winks and spins Steve, before dipping him and almost dropping him. 

“Hey!” Steve yells. “Watch it!” The laugh that comes is genuine, bright and full of affection. By the time they’re both standing upright again, the song’s ended and Steve turns to go back to their table. 

When they get there, Clint’s delivering another pitcher, filling glasses and everyone’s smiling and laughing, talking about times past. Steve lets himself be buoyed on the tide of it, easy laughter with people he cares about, Bucky leaning against him, warm at his side. 

“So,” Nat says, and from the look on her face, Steve knows--knows--this is going to be bad for him. “You never told me you and Steve used to date.” 

There’s a beat of silence. 

Steve’s pretty sure that all of the blood in his body has relocated to face. 

His heart is beating a mile a minute.

He opens his mouth to say something but nothing--no words will come out.

“What the fuck?” Bucky says, his laughter startling Steve into at least closing his mouth. 

“Are you telling me you didn’t?” Steve’s gotta give her credit: her look of incredulity is a thousand percent believable.

“Of course we didn’t!” Bucky says. 

Yeah, of course we didn’t.

This is so fucking hopeless, he thinks.

“Oh come on,” Nat says, and she’s got that grin, her mouth tucking up to one side, that makes Steve realize that this is some kind of plan. Plot. Goddammit. 

“No, why would you think that?” Bucky asks, eyes glued to Natasha. 

“Uh, from the way you two were dancing out there, I just assumed.”

“No. That would be-” Bucky coughs, head ducking. “That would be weird, Nat. We’ve known each other our whole lives.”

“Yeah, and childhood sweethearts isn’t a thing,” Clint chimes in.

“Oh, God,” Bucky says. He turns, nudging Steve. “Dude. Tell them.”

Steve can’t bring himself to look Bucky in the eye. It’s too--God, he never wanted this. “We never dated,” he says, giving Nat his best fuck-right-off look. 

“Really? Weird. Never even thought about it?”

“Jesus, no,” Bucky says, and shifts away from where he was leaning into Steve. 

Gee. Thanks, Nat. 

“Huh. Just thought...you guys have chemistry.”

“You’re like a dog with a bone, here, Nat.” Bucky says, then shrugs.

That’s Steve’s cue. “Anyway,” he says. “It’s time for me to get going. My alarm’s gonna go off in...God, four and a half hours?” He shifts in his seat and Bucky slides away, making space for him to leave. 

When he stands, Bucky does too. Steve leans in for a quick hug. “Congratulations, Buck,” Steve says. “You’ve earned this.”

“Thanks.” Bucky gives Steve a quick squeeze, then sits back down. The rest say their goodbyes, and as Steve leaves, he can hear them all laughing, boisterous, Bucky’s laugh ringing just a little bit louder than the others. 

Steve has no idea what Nat’s playing at, but it’s not okay. Instead of enjoying his night out, he feels exposed and a little mocked? It’s nothing good, and he doesn’t understand why she can’t just let it be. 

His subway stop comes and he ends up jogging the last six blocks home, needing to work off the excess energy from whatever that little stunt of hers was. As he opens his front door, his phone buzzes with a text message from Bucky.

**JBB:** These guys aren’t as fun without you. Thanks for coming out. :)

Steve smiles, plugs his phone in by the bed, and goes to brush his teeth. When he comes back, there’s another text:

**Unknown Number:** Please trust me.

**SGR:** Natasha?

**Unknown Number:** At least now he’s thinking about it. 

**SGR:** Let it go, Nat. Please.

He watches his phone for several minutes, but no reply comes. That’s fine. As long as she lays off, they have nothing to worry about. 

Still, as he drifts off to sleep, he can’t help but wonder if her little scheme worked. Could Bucky really think of him like that? 

What if?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, thank you so much. Writing this has been so lovely, and I appreciate your comments and kudos so much! <3 <3 <3 Thank you, thank you! 
> 
> Also, that trailer!!! While one SGR looks fantastic, I miss the depression look. Unkempt is a very good look on him, kwim??


	5. May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you're next to me I come alive. - Pointer Sisters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank yoooouuuu to alittleblackfox for the wonderful beta work. She's so lovely.

**JBB:** Delancy’s at six. Wanda got into grad school!

Steve looks at the text message and groans. He has no idea how he’s going to get out of this one. Instead of responding, he sets the phone down for a minute to rest. His lungs are so tight he feels like he can barely get a breath in, and everything is sore. He’s sure he’s running a fever. Instead of doing anything about it, he uses his inhaler. Maybe if he can keep his lungs clear, he can get ahead of whatever bug he’s caught this time around.

When his phone chimes again, it startles him out of a light sleep. Rolling, he looks at the screen, with a new message from Bucky.

**JBB:** ?

**SGR:** Can’t. Inventory. Send my live.

**JBB:** LOL will do, typo king.

Steve sets his phone back on the charger and rolls back onto his side. His delivery from Chen’s should be here soon. Until then, he’s just going to rest. 

He wakes to someone pounding on the door. Or is that his head? He tries to breathe in but starts coughing immediately, so hard that he’s doubled over with it. No matter what he tries, he can’t get a breath in, and he can feel himself starting to panic. He’s fumbling for his phone, his inhaler, something, when he hears a soft swear and a cool hand press against his forehead. 

“Oh, goddamn you.” Bucky sounds mad and...and something else that Steve can’t put his finger on. 

It’s okay though, because Bucky’s here. It’s going to be okay. 

Bucky hauls him up to sit against his headboard, then finds the nebulizer and loads a cartridge in. Steve feels the tube press against his mouth and opens, and within moments, he finds he can breathe again. 

Closing his eyes, he sinks back against the headboard. 

When he opens his eyes again, it’s a few hours later. 

Bucky’s sitting in a chair next to Steve’s bed, scrolling through his phone. When he sees Steve is awake, he sets it down and leans forward, putting his hand against Steve’s forehead. 

“Fever seems to be coming down. Dr. Erskine came by. Gave you a shot of antibiotics, refilled your inhaler, and left some prescriptions.” His tone is gruff.

Steve knows it must have been bad for Dr. Erskine to make a housecall. When Steve was a little kid, sick every other week it seemed, Erskine sort of adopted him. Through a rigorous regiment of diet, exercise, and strategic supplements, Steve managed to put on the weight and height that Erskine promised he would. He outgrew a lot of his childhood ailments, but his weak lungs still plagued him, and bronchitis hit him hard at least once a year. 

“Thanks,” Steve says, and gives him a weak smile. Bucky doesn’t return it.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Okay,” Steve says. “Chest hurts.”

“Yeah, well you got bronchitis. Your temp was over a hundred and three when I got here. Steve, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“What?”

He sees Bucky’s jaw clench, that tick at the corner, before he turns furious blue eyes on Steve. “You could have gotten pneumonia at the rate you were going. There were two orders from Chen’s at your front door. Your boss called me because you didn’t show up for your shift and was worried. So I ask you again: What in the  _ fuck _ were you thinking?”

This is...this is  _ bad. _ Bucky is mad at him. “I’m sorry, Buck, I’m just...tired.”

Grimacing, Bucky sits back for a moment before he turns to the night table. He fusses with a couple of bottles and then sits down next to Steve.

“C’mon,” he says, pressing a bottle of water to Steve’s lips. “You gotta have some water and take these.” 

Steve takes the pills, letting Bucky push them past his lips, swallowing them down. When Bucky holds his hand against Steve’s forehead again, he leans into the touch, eyes closing. It feels so nice to be cared for. 

“Get some sleep,” Bucky says, taking his hand away. Steve wants to say something, grab Bucky’s hand and hold it there, but sleep takes him before he can try, 

The next time he wakes, it’s dark. Bucky’s sitting by his side again, tapping away at his laptop. Steve watches him for a moment, the screen lighting the planes of Bucky’s face, setting deep shadows at his temples and cheekbones. He’s beautiful.

And then it hits him.

Fuck.

If Bucky is here, that means Steve really fucked up. He sighs, and Bucky’s eyes flick to his face. 

“How’re you feeling?” he asks, closing up his laptop and setting it aside. 

“Like a truck hit me.”

“Your fever broke about an hour ago,” he says, and Steve notices the damp sheets clinging to him. “Hold on.”

Bucky leaves, and returns with a bottle of Pedialyte and starts rifling through the bottles on the nightstand again. “Here,” he says, turning to Steve. “Drink all of this and take these.” 

Taking the pills from Bucky, Steve downs them and then finished the bottle. It tastes awful, but he knows he need the salts and electrolytes. 

“You ready for some food?” 

Steve shrugs. “I could use a shower.”

“I’ll make you a bath. I don’t want you falling in the shower.”

As Bucky tends to the bath, Steve looks around his room. He’s so gross he can smell himself, and he can feel the grease and dried sweat on his skin. He gets up, feeling unsteady on his feet, but tries to make it to his dresser for some clean clothes.

Before he can take another step, Bucky’s there, his arm around Steve’s waist, turning him around and walking him to the bathroom. He helps Steve out of his shirt and turns his head politely as Steve shucks his pants. 

“I got it, Buck,” Steve says, as he steps into the bath. 

Bucky grunts an answer, gathering Steve’s dirty clothes and leaving him to it. 

The bath is hot on his skin and it feels wonderful. The steam is scented, eucalyptus maybe? It’s smells good, calming, and Steve begins to drift, letting the hot water soothe his muscles. His ribs and abs are sore from coughing and the roaring headache he’s got is finally starting to edge away. 

Just as the water’s starting to cool, Bucky knocks at the door, then opens it just enough to set a fresh set of clothes on the counter. “Food’s here. You want some help getting out of there?”

Steve grimaces. The bath was refreshing, and he feels strong enough to manage on his own, so he says so.

“Stubborn ass,” Bucky mutters under his breath, closing the door behind him. 

When he comes out of the bathroom, he can’t deny that he’s feeling a little light headed. He goes right back to bed, and is touched to see that Bucky’s changed his sheets. Climbing in, he notices that Bucky’s set up the electric blanket, and that the whole bed is warm and cozy. It’s the nicest thing. 

When Bucky returns, he has a tray with a few different dishes on it. Steve thinks he can smell ginger and spices, and realizes that Bucky must have ordered Thai food. It smells so good he could cry. 

“Lean back,” Bucky says. “Let’s get you situated.” 

They do, and then Bucky gives Steve the tray, before going back for one of his own. He’s dragged the armchair from the living room into Steve’s small bedroom, and he sits on that, setting his food on a TV table that’s come out of nowhere. 

Steve dives into the coconut milk soup. It’s spicy and aromatic, and he can feel his sinuses clearing as he goes. There are egg rolls and a beef and ginger dish that looks good, but is way more than he can handle. The soup is more than enough, and he stops eating before he can make himself sick with it. He’s at least got that much self-awareness going on.

Bucky notices, setting his food aside to clear Steve’s tray, before returning to give Steve a bedtime dose of meds. 

“Get some sleep,” Bucky says, taking the glass from Steve. “I’m gonna have to get you up again in a few hours to take more of these, so get some sleep while you can. 

Steve nods. “Thanks, Buck.”

Bucky just nods and pats his shoulder, pulling the covers up and effectively tucking Steve in for the night. 

The next morning, Steve wakes feeling clear-headed. His chest doesn’t ache with the feeling that he can’t get enough air, and his headache is all but gone. Whatever it was that was kicking his ass, seems to be on the run. Getting up, he goes to the bathroom before surveying the host of bottles on his nightstand. Anti-inflammatories, antibiotics, steroids, something to thin the mucus in his chest - there’s a half dozen pills there in addition to a bottle of Advil. 

God, how sick was he? He remembers feeling shitty and going to bed, then remembers calling out the next day. Picking up his phone, he sees dozens of missed calls - work, Sam, Nat, Wanda, Clint...and Bucky. There are over a dozen missed calls from Bucky alone. 

The worst part is, he can’t even lie to himself. He’d gone to bed thinking he could tough it out and when he realized he was getting really sick, well, he could get by on hot and sour soup, and packets of ramen. He’d planned to call Erskine for an appointment in the morning, he remembers thinking that much. Looking at all those missed calls though, he guesses he’s in for it. 

With a sigh, he heads to the kitchen, and stops short when he sees Bucky sleeping on the couch. He’s still in his clothes, one socked foot peeking out from a quilt Steve’s mom made. Steve doesn’t like to keep it on his bed; he’s afraid he’ll wear it out. Now though, seeing Bucky wrapped up in it, Steve’s...God. Every damned thing he’s looking at looks like home to him. 

He goes to the kitchen, makes coffee and heats water for tea. Coffee sounds like a lot right now, but he knows Bucky will want some when he wakes. He hears a cough and a groan coming from the living room, so he guesses Bucky’s just about there.

“Coffee’s ready,” Steve says. He stands at the sink, stirring sugar into his peppermint tea. 

Bucky comes to the kitchen, t-shirt rumpled, sweatpants up to his calves and bedhead in full effect. There’s a pillow crease on his cheek and he looks like the best thing Steve’s ever seen. 

Instead of saying anything, he hands Bucky a coffee cup. 

Steve turns to go sit at the couch, but Bucky gives him a thunderous look, so he returns to the bedroom instead. He knows it’s for the best, but he also hates it. Hates being weak. Hates needing someone to take care of him. 

After a few minutes, Bucky comes in and sits at the chair by Steve’s bedside. He sets the coffee down and starts going through the pill bottles. He names them all, tells Steve the schedule and what they do. “Doc’s gonna want to see you in another day or two. I let your boss know that you’d be out through Wednesday at least. He said to take your time. It’s Sunday, by the way.”

“Shit,” Steve says. He’s missed enough work already. That means Andres and Sal have been splitting his shifts. He owes them huge. “I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve says. “You shouldn’t have to take time off to take care of me. I can get by on my own.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky says, his voice tight with barely controlled anger. “I know my line here, and fuck you. You don’t deserve it. When I got here, you were--I thought--” Then he stops, and closes his eyes. “You were so still, and it was dark, and I thought...and then you coughed. 

I had to pack your armpits with ice to get your fever down. Erskine said you were a step away from pneumonia, Steve. And at no point did calling me even cross your mind, did it?”

Steve grits his teeth, jaw jutting forward. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Bucky leaves the room and Steve’s initial irritation gives way to shame. He never meant to worry Bucky like that. And he knows that Bucky is happy to help. Steve hates that his lungs are so weak. He gets a bad dose of bronchitis about once a year, on top of all the little colds and occasional flu that come around. What he hates more than being sick is being reliant on anyone for help. He wasn’t lying before. He can get by on his own. 

Or, at least he wishes he could.

He’s a grown man. He shouldn’t need help taking care of himself for God’s sake.

Then he thinks about it a little more. He thinks about how angry Bucky is - angrier than Steve’s ever seen him. He thinks about what Bucky said, what he implied. Then he’s up, out of bed, and heading to the living room, where Bucky is quietly fuming over his laptop. 

Bucky looks up as Steve enters the room. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, not giving Bucky a chance to speak. “I’m so sorry I worried you. I should have called you when I realized I was getting really sick. I thought I could just get some sleep and kick it.”

“You have never in your fucking life kicked bronchitis, Steve. What the fuck?”

“I know,” Steve says. “Buck, I’m sorry.” It’s sincere. It’s maybe the most sincere apology he’s ever given. There under the surface though, is what he doesn’t want to say. He doesn’t want to say how much he hates being weak in front of Bucky, how much he hates relying on Bucky. It brings up all those years where Bucky’d stepped in to finish Steve’s fights, and how angry it made Steve feel, how impotent. 

It’s not that he hopes. He doesn’t.

But at least he thought he could save a little pride. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again. “I hate asking for help, but that’s no excuse for worrying you.” 

Bucky finally seems to accept the apology. “Yeah, well, you’re a stubborn punk. Come on,” he says, patting the cushion next to him. “Sit down before you fall down, Rogers.”

Steve sits, and Bucky pulls the comforter over the two of them, then turns on a movie that they’ve both seen a hundred times. It’s soothing, and exactly what he wants. It isn’t long before he has his head in Bucky’s lap, and Bucky’s absently combing his fingers through Steve’s hair. 

It’s so nice. 

At one point, Steve’s about to drift off, but he realizes he’s been fighting it because he needs to know if he and Bucky are good. 

He grabs for Bucky’s hand, stilling it, then turning over to look up at him. 

“I’m sorry that I worried you,” Steve says. “This is a lot better than trying to go it alone. Thank you.”

Bucky looks taken aback, either by Steve’s sincerity, or something else. Steve’s so hazy, he can’t quite say. 

Finally, Bucky gives him a soft smile, and squeezes his hand. “Hey,” he says. “I’m with you to the end of the line, pal. Right?”

And there it is - the thing that Steve’s been waiting for. The reassurance that even though he can be a stubborn, stupid ass, Bucky’s going to stand by him, no matter what. 

He squeezes Bucky’s hand back, then turns over to watch the movie. He’s asleep within minutes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read [ Get Jingle With It by Mambo,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501376) please do yourself a favor and read it. It's complete and I luff it.


	6. June

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you care, don’t let them know. Don’t give yourself away. - Joni MItchell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alittleblackfox is a truly, madly, deeply wonderful beta reader and person. All errors are mine.

“I have to go to Fishtown,” Steve says, and holds his breath.

“Why?” Bucky’s voice is incredulous. “Brooklyn isn’t getting hipster enough? Do I need to check you for errant suspenders?”

“My boss is looking to expand, and thinks Fishtown is a good bet. Don’t ask. But I still owe the guys from when I was sick, so I volunteered.”

“Sucks to be you,” Bucky replies.

Steve listens to the silence on the phone before realizing that yes, he’s still being punished for not calling Bucky when he got sick last month. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought that up.

“Wanna come with?” he finally asks, dodging what he knows he needs to say, but hoping Bucky won’t be that mean.

“Do I want to come to Fishtown? Not in this lifetime. Pass, pal.”

“Oh,” Steve says, disappointed. Car trips with Bucky are nice. They play each other music and eat terrible food at questionable diners. They make a dozen stops for selfies and then Steve prints them out and puts them in an album he’s been keeping since he was eight years old and realized Bucky was his best friend.

Finally, Bucky sighs. “You never got your license, did you? After all those promises last fall, you still didn’t go.”

“You know I didn’t.”

“Well. You can take the train.”

“Buck, come on. I hate the train.”

“Nope.”

“Please?”

“Ah-ah-ah, _ that _ is not the magic word.”

Steve sighs, hating every second of what’s about to happen. “Bucky, would you please help me? I need a ride to Fishtown.” He knows he sounds resigned. He’s kind of past caring.

“What’s that? Steve Rogers is asking for help? Is that…do I detect a chill? Hath Hell frozen over?”

“Well if you’re gonna be like this about it, I’ll just ask someone else!”

Bucky laughs, and even though it’s at Steve’s expense, it sounds good. “Who? Sam? Nat? Neither one of them is gonna drive you two states over to go look at real estate.”

With a sigh, Steve says, “Alright. I can take the train.” He’s resigned, and it won’t be that bad, he figures. It’s just--he’s not really sure that he and Bucky are okay. They’ve hung out a few times since Steve got sick, but always in a group. It’s not the same, and Steve’s worried that he somehow damaged their relationship. 

It’s not that he was trying to shut Bucky out, he just--he hates asking for help. 

Hates it. 

It brings up those years just after his Ma died, when he’d still been in college and was trying to figure it all out on his own. There were so many little things--signing an apartment lease, and opening a credit card, filling out a revised FAFSA--he’d felt overwhelmed by it all, and in turn, so thankful for the help he did get. It left him with a strong sense of independence, but also with a sense that he needed to be self sufficient. He never wanted to have to rely on the kindness of others again. 

Bucky’s laugh breaks him out of his reverie. “I’m just kidding you, punk. When do we go?”

“Really?” Steve asked. He hates the hope in his voice, but he’s looking forward to a day with Bucky more. “Saturday morning,” Steve replies. 

“You’re buying coffee.”

“You got it.” Steve hangs up with a smile on his face. 

.

The trip starts out uneventful. Steve plies Bucky with coffee and pastries, rescuing the last cheese danish from the bakery case and getting the coffee-to-cream mix just right. Bucky grunts a good morning, and they’re on their way.

Steve has a list of three different properties to look at. He’s already made it clear that he has no interest in relocating, and his boss has hinted heavily that Steve would be in line for a pretty big promotion if the expansion goes through. It’s enough to make Steve not quite hate spending the afternoon peering into ancient, greasy ovens, and evacuating families of mice from torn banquet seating. 

When they finish up with the last site (the one with the most promise, in Steve’s opinion) they track down a Japanese restaurant that Sam swore had the best spicy miso soup he’d ever tasted. They slurp noodles and laugh about the day, like when a mouse scurried across Bucky’s shoe. Bucky climbed onto a table until Steve said it was safe.

“Laugh it up,” Bucky says. “I’m not the one who’s going to end up with the plague.”

“It’s okay, Buck,” Steve said, a laugh in his voice. “I’ll protect you.”

It’s a good day, Steve thinks. He misses spending time with just Bucky. Misses how they can be together, each of them riffing off of the other, and all of the inside jokes. 

“Hey, let me try that,” Steve says, just as Bucky lifts a huge bunch of noodles to his face. 

With a laugh, Bucky nudges his bowl toward Steve, and the two of them slurp in unison, both grinning at each other. 

“Aw,” Bucky says, when they finish swallowing. “Too bad we didn’t meet in the middle, like Lady and the Tramp.”

“What?” Steve asks, not quite understanding what Bucky’s suggesting.

“Eh,” he says. “It’d give Nat a thrill, huh?”

Steve doesn’t really know what to say to that. It feels like Bucky’s teasing him, but there’s almost a mean edge to it. It’s unsettling. 

Bucky must notice the joke fall flat, because he’s more subdued after. The finish their noodles in near-silence, and when they’re done, Steve gets a carton of the miso soup to go, thinking he’ll drop it off to Sam later. 

When they get back to the car, Steve offers Bucky first pick of the music. He chooses an album from when they were in college, and Steve leans into it, singing along and tapping his hands against his thighs. 

It isn’t long though, before he notices that Bucky’s not joining in. 

“You okay?” he finally asks, just outside of Jersey. 

“What? Yeah, I’m okay. Just...in my head today I guess.”

“Wanna talk about it?” 

Bucky shrugs. Sometimes Steve gets deep in his own mind. He gets focused on the shoulds of the world, his desire to be someone people can count on, someone people can trust to do the right thing. 

Bucky’s different though. When he gets in his head, it’s usually about the past, or worse, he’s marking himself against someone else, tallying their successes against his own. He’s smart and driven, and everyone who knows him knows that he’ll work a problem until it’s solved. But he never seems to appreciate his own successes. It makes Steve sad. He wishes Bucky could see himself through Steve’s eyes, just once. 

They drive in near-silence for a while, the music barely noticeable as the two of them disappear into their own minds. 

Finally, Bucky sighs. “Becca’s gonna marry that kid.”

“What? Did he ask her? Is she engaged?” Steve’s startled to find himself so far out of the loop.

“No,” Bucky says, immediately allaying Steve’s fear. “No, but, he’s gonna ask, and she’ll say yes. I’ll eat my hat if she’s not engaged by New Year’s.” There’s that bitter edge again, lurking just behind the surface of what he’s saying. 

“Isn’t this good news? I mean, he seems like a nice guy. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen Becca so happy. Isn’t that what we all want?”

Sighing, Bucky just says, “Whatever,” and keeps his eyes on the road. 

Steve can’t stand Bucky like this. Whatever’s going on with him, it’s sucking away his normally happy disposition and leaving this glum guy in his place. 

Reaching out, Steve puts his hand on Bucky’s arm. “Hey,” he says, voice gentle. “What’s going on with you?”

Keeping his eyes on the road, Bucky keeps his silence before sighing again. “Nothing. I just--she’s my baby sister, you know? And she’s getting married before me.”

“What?” Steve can’t control the incredulous sound of his voice. It’s just…”You’ve never talked about wanting to get married.”

“I know. I just--I don’t even know if I do, you know? I keep waiting for my life to start, and every time I look around me, I see other people moving forward, but I’m--it feels like I’m stuck.”

“Okay, I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about, Buck. You just got a huge raise and promotion, your career is going great. You have good friends...I’m not seeing your point.”

Groaning, Bucky grips the steering wheel tight enough for Steve to see the whites of his knuckles. “I just--I want what Nat and Clint have, you know? Or Becca and Dave. I want…” He gives a frustrated sigh, but he doesn’t need to say it for Steve to hear it. 

Bucky wants to be in love. 

“I don’t think I ever have,” Bucky says, like he’s reading Steve’s mind. “I want to, it just never seems to turn over for me.”

Steve holds back his sigh, and stuffs his aching heart down into his guts. This isn’t the time or place. “So what’s holding you back?” he asks. 

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t know. I thought I was gonna meet someone, and look at them and know that they were the one, you know? I thought I’d know. But I meet new people, and there’s just...nothing. I keep waiting for that spark.” 

Steve doesn’t know what to say, and while he’s formulating a response, Bucky speaks again. 

“Have you?”

“Have I?”

“Been in love?” Bucky’s voice is soft now, almost like he doesn’t want to ask. Doesn’t he know Steve would give him anything? 

He doesn’t want to answer. He doesn’t want to say yes, because he’s afraid of where that make take them. At the same time though, he doesn’t have it in him to deny Bucky. Not when he’s being so open. Not when he needs something that Steve can give him. 

“Yeah,” he says, his voice matching Bucky’s. 

“How did you know?” 

“I just knew, Buck. I wish I could give you a better answer, but I can’t. They’re smart and funny and kind, and...and they’re the only person I wanted to be with. The first person I wanted to tell my good news to, and the last person I wanted to talk to at night.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, and they listen to the hum of the tires on the road, the playlist having ended and the music stopped. 

Steve’s just about to give up on the conversation when Bucky speaks up again.

“What about sex? I mean...isn’t that part of it?”

Steve wants to laugh, because what the fuck is he supposed to say to that? ‘Yeah, Buck, sex would be great. Why don’t you scoot down in your seat a little and I’ll blow you right here?’

Fuck.

“I think,” Steve says, feeling out his words, “that that’s probably the difference between being friends and being something else. I mean, if someone has all those qualities but you don’t want to have sex with them, then...you’re just...good friends.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything more until they get to the last toll. Traffic’s starting to back up, but they’re able to bypass it with the monitor in the rental. 

“What happened with you guys, anyway?” Bucky asks, eyes on the road.

“Huh?” Steve asks.

“You and Sharon. She’s the one, right? When you two split up, you never said.”

Steve shrugs, even though he knows Bucky can’t see him. 

“It just didn’t work,” he says, knowing that he’s skirting the truth in the worst way. ‘It just didn’t work’ because Steve was in love with Bucky, which meant he didn’t have room in his heart for Sharon. And Sharon was wonderful. He’d thought that given enough time, they really could have had something, but she deserved better than maybe. Eventually the guilt led him to break things off. 

With a derisive snort, Bucky says, “Well, we always got each other pal. Thank God for that, huh?”

Steve offers a thin laugh, and the two of them head back into Brooklyn. By the time they drop off the rental and Steve walks Bucky to the subway, he feels like something inside of him has shifted. No matter how much he loves Bucky, wants him, it’s clear that Bucky doesn’t feel the same. While Steve can’t help the way that he feels, he  _ can _ stop indulging himself in it. 

As he climbs into bed that night, he makes himself a promise: Come what may, he’s going to stop participating in his own misery. He’s going to stop falling for Bucky Barnes. He’s going to stop dreaming about what their life could look like, stop fantasizing about the taste of his skin. 

It won’t happen overnight, but he’s not going to spend another year tearing his own heart out. By New Year’s Eve, he’s going to be over Bucky Barnes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want more holiday happiness, check out [Please Just Fall In Love With Me This Christmas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8720755/chapters/19993867) by emphasisonem. It's a wonderful series of fluffy holiday o/s.


	7. July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're the sun that shines when the darkness strikes at night. - Wyclef Jean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alittleblackfox was kind enough to give this a beta read. I do so appreciate her help and advice! All mistakes are my own stubborn willfulness and careless neglect.

The Fourth of July has always been one of Steve’s favorite holidays. It’s patriotic, and his mother, the daughter of immigrants, always took time out of the day to talk with Steve about the foundations of democracy, and why and how the country was founded. He loved those talks, because instead of the dry history lesson his teachers always gave, Sarah instead was able to bring it to life with real-world examples. Then they would watch a couple of episodes of the Twilight Zone marathon, making sure they caught their favorites. 

That evening, after they’d enjoyed grilled burgers, or hot dogs, and Sarah’s crazy baked potato salad,  _ then _ they would go see fireworks. It never failed to wow Steve - how beautiful they were, dazzling displays of color against the dark night sky.

Of course, the real reason it was his favorite was simple: it also happened to be his birthday. 

After fireworks, Sarah always had cake and ice cream back at the house, and once Steve met Bucky, he would often come along, too, usually spending the night, so that they could play with Steve’s new toys. 

The next morning, if she wasn’t working, Sarah would start them off with big stacks of strawberry pancakes, topped with fresh bananas and drowning in maple syrup. They were some of the happiest days of Steve’s life. 

Now that he’s on his own, he still makes a point to honor the traditions his mother set for him all those years ago. He catches up on current events over coffee, and, if schedules allow, he makes a big stack of strawberry and banana pancakes, and drowns them in maple syrup. This year, he eats them with Bucky in front of the television, both of them talking along with the show. 

“My name is Talking Tina, and I’m going to kill you,” they say, pitching their voices to chime in with that of the doll in the show. 

“I never get over this,” Bucky says around a mouth full of bacon. 

“Same,” Steve says. 

And yes, he knows he still needs to get over Bucky, but it’s his birthday and he figures he’s allowed to give in to a few bad habits, just for today. He’ll get back to work on getting over Bucky tomorrow. Today he doesn’t have to be an adult if he doesn’t want to.

Natasha’s building has a rooftop pool, so once breakfast is over and cleaned up, the two of them head her way, Bucky bringing Sarah’s potato salad, and Steve bringing a tray of his chocolate drizzled toffee blondies. 

They spend the day in the sun, drinking good beer and enjoying each other’s company. Clint goofs around in the pool, making a series of improbable jumps from the diving board, and Steve and Bucky win a rousing game of chicken against Sam and Natasha. Wanda and Pietro show up, with Wanda toting a huge birthday cake from the bakery, and Pietro hauling a new case of beer and two bags of groceries. 

It’s good. It’s a good day. Everyone’s relaxed and happy, and Steve is resolutely not going to feel bad about how good Bucky looks coming up from the water, his hair laying flat for seconds before it springs up, rivulets of water running down his chest, drawing Steve’s eye as they go.

Steve takes a deep breath and dunks himself in the water before he actually embarasses himself. 

He’s floating with his head anchored to the side of the pool, eyes closed, taking in the sun, feeling peaceful and content when the water ripples around him, letting him know someone’s there.

“You put on sunscreen?” Bucky asks. 

“Mmmhmm,” Steve replies. He put on some 75 spf right before they left the house. 

“Recently? You know you gotta put that stuff on every hour and a half.”

“Shit,” Steve says. “Really? But it’s waterproof.”

“Come on,” Bucky says, kicking off the side. “I’ll get your back.”

Steve follows him, toweling off in the heat, then sitting between Bucky’s legs so that he can apply the sunscreen. Bucky hands are warm and firm on his back, massaging the lotion in first in broad strokes, then taking his time over Steve’s neck and shoulders. Steve has to bite back a moan, and he isn’t sure if it’s because Bucky’s doing such a great job, or if it’s because it’s Bucky. 

Across the pool, Sam and Natasha watch the pair of them. 

“Are you seeing this shit?” Sam asks.

“Mmm,” Nat replies. “I’m on it.”

“It’s about time.”

Steve thinks he could fall asleep like this, warm and contented, with Bucky rubbing his shoulders, but then Bucky speaks.

“It’s been years, and I still can’t get over it,” Bucky says, and Steve has to bring his brain back online. 

“Huh?”

“This,” he says, tapping Steve’s shoulders. “I think you had the growth spurt to end all growth spurts. Sometimes we’ll be talking on the phone and I’ll have this picture of you in my head, like you were in high school, you know. Then I see you and it’s like seeing you for the first time all over again.” 

Steve and Bucky had chosen different colleges, and they ended up not seeing each other at all that first semester. When they finally met up for Christmas, Steve had put on a few inches and some pounds to go with it. By the time he started his sophomore year, he was almost taller than Bucky, and by the time he started his junior year, he’d put on the muscle to go with the height. Dr. Erskine had gotten him into a trial for a new growth hormone, and lucky for Steve, he reacted well. 

He can’t say he misses the little guy he used to be, but it was nice knowing that people were interested in him, and not just body that he finally grew into. It’s one of the reasons he treasures his friendship with Bucky so much. Bucky’d loved him when he was a scrawny little kid with a chip on his shoulder a mile wide. 

“Yeah?” Steve says. “You miss being able to sit on me to keep me still? Make me do what you want?”

“Nah,” Bucky says. “It’s just different. You don’t really need me to fight your battles anymore, you know?”

“Well, less bruised knuckles for you,” Steve reasons. 

“Eh, I never minded,” Bucky says. “I’m sure Ma did, but not me. Here,” Bucky says, handing the bottle of sunscreen to Steve. “Do your front.”

Steve takes the bottle, reapplies sunscreen, and lays back in the lounge chair next to Bucky’s. Maybe that’s it, he thinks. Maybe the reason he can’t seem to get over Bucky is that Bucky’s still taking care of him. He starts to get lost in his thoughts, when Bucky reaches out and takes his hand.

“Hey,” he says, voice low. “Happy Birthday, Steve.”

Something about the way he says it is so soft and intimate that Steve’s heart pangs. He gives Bucky’s hand a squeeze. “Thanks, Buck.” 

As the day goes on, they swim some more, drink some more, and eat themselves silly with Pietro manning the grill. Everyone compliments the potato salad, and Steve and Bucky share a look, just between them. 

He can’t imagine having this with anyone else, and maybe that’s the problem. He can’t imagine having  _ this _ with anyone else. 

Bucky stands next to him as they watch the fireworks from the roof, both of them leaning over the railing. At one point he sneaks a look at Bucky, who’s smiling wide, looking so young and carefree that it takes Steve’s breath away. 

Bucky catches him looking, and his smile softens into something fond, before they both turn to look back at the sky.

At the conclusion, they all stomp and clap and cheer, Natasha yelling the loudest, and Clint turning down his hearing aids in protest. 

Wanda yells, “Cake!” and Bucky yells “Presents,” and everyone gathers around Sam, who has lit the candles on the birthday cake. 

When Steve looks around the circle that’s formed, it’s hard for him to feel anything but loved. These are the people he counts as his dearest friends. When his mother passed, he’d felt so terribly alone in the world. But then Bucky was there, insisting that the Barnes family would be happy to have him, and Becca made sure to be underfoot just enough to be irritating. Then he went away to school, and collected Sam, then Wanda and Pietro when he started at the bakery. Nat and Clint came with Bucky, and at this point, he knows that anytime he’s feeling lonely, that it’s only his own stubbornness and melancholy. 

Taking a deep breath, he makes the same wish he has for years now. He knows it won’t come true, but it’s his birthday, and he’s indulging, so he wishes it anyway:  _ Please just let him see me. _

After, they have cake and ice cream - a gorgeous, six layer chocolate cake with peanut butter buttercream, and chocolate peanut butter ice cream on the side. It’s a bit overkill, and Wanda takes the tiniest slice, but Clint looks like he’s died and gone to heaven, and Steve eats until he feels like his mouth is glued shut and his stomach aches. 

Then he has one more bite. 

When it’s time for presents, Steve’s a little taken aback. The pile of gifts seems inordinately high. Growing up, it was just him and his mother; while he never wanted for the basics, neither was he a spoiled child. This feels like ostentation, but deep down? He loves it. It’s not the gifts, it’s what they say: We know you. We love you. We’re here for you. We have your back. 

Steve has to look away for a moment so that he doesn’t get choked up. 

In the end, he unwraps a gorgeous leather journal from Wanda, the latest Call of Duty from Pietro, tickets an exhibit at the Met from Nat and Clint, and a gift certificate to his favorite restaurant from Sam. then there’s one gift left. Steve can’t tell from the box what it is, and when he tears away the wrapping paper, his breath catches. 

It’s a brand new Stark Pad, the artists edition, and it’s maybe the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

“Bucky,” he breathes, fingertips trailing over the glass. It’s so thin and light! 

“Turn it on,” Bucky says, and Steve does, please to see that the battery is over 90 percent. He looks through a couple of the apps, but then stops dead. The tablet has been loaded with the three drawing programs that he’s coveted most. When he opens the first one, he sees that it’s been fully loaded with a host of brushes, and that the entire thing is ready to go. There’s a tap on his shoulder, and Bucky hands him the stylus with a smile. 

“Go on,” he says, his smile so warm and full that it makes Steve’s heart twist in his chest. 

He draws a few strokes, marveling at the responsiveness. “It’s so sensitive,” he says.

"That's what she said," Pietro says, and Wanda smacks him, but everyone laughs.

“The design team said something about it being pressure sensitive?" Bucky says. "And it has a QLED 4k screen? I don’t really know what that is, but they said it was good. Is it good?”

Steve sets the tablet down in the box, and turns to take Bucky with a long, deep hug. “It’s amazing, Buck. I don’t...know how to thank you. It’s too much.”

“Shut up, Rogers,” Bucky says, but his hold on Steve is just as fierce. “Besides, employee discount.”

Steve laughs, squeezing his eyes shut against the threatening tears. 

“So you hate it,” Bucky says, pulling away and reaching for the tablet.

“Fuck off,” Steve says, holding the box close to his chest. Then, quieter, “Thank you.” 

“Happy Birthday,” Bucky says, equally as quiet. 

They give each other long, pleased looks, and when they finally look away, they find that everyone else has drifted away, busying themselves with clean up. Steve and Bucky join them, and as Steve helps pack up leftovers and takes the trash to the chute, he thinks again about what a perfect day this has been. 

It’s okay, he thinks. If this is all I ever get, it’s enough. That night he falls asleep with a smile on his face for the first time in months. It was a very happy birthday, indeed. 


	8. August

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pushing forward then arching back brings me closer to heart attack. - Maroon 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alittleblackfox is a wonderful, wonderful beta! Sometimes I fiddle, or worse, ignore her advice. All mistakes are mine.

All of the really bad morning afters start the same way: Drinks at Delancey’’s the night before. 

**JBB:** Delancey’s tonight? 7?

**SGR:** Sure. Dinner first?

**JBB:** Can’t have a date bringing him with

**SGR:** OK. Who else is coming?

**JBB:** Wanda nat usual

**SGR:** Cool. Prob leave early tho work.

**JBB:** K c u tonight

Steve puts his phone down with a groan. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Bucky’s always been a prolific dater, and Steve can’t see any reason why that would change.

If anything, he’s furious at himself. He let his guard down on his birthday. He’d let himself revel in the nearness of Bucky, how affectionate he’d been. Now that it’s over, he’s having a hard time going back to the way he was before: guarding his glances, protecting himself from his own imagination, his own heart. 

Whatever. 

He’s doing the exact thing he promised himself he wouldn’t do anymore: He’s moping over Bucky. With renewed determination, he puts Bucky out of his mind and heads to the bedroom to take a nap. Having such a radically different schedule than most of his friends means he’s chronically sleep deprived. He’s used to it, for the most part, but on the rare occasions that he takes a vacation, he finds himself sleeping deep and feeling fantastic when he wakes ups. It’s not perfect, but he loves his job. Until he figures out a way to do what he loves and have a better schedule, sleep becomes the sacrifice. 

When he gets up, he takes a quick, bracing shower to wake up, then gets dressed and heads out to Delancey’s. He can’t say he’s looking forward to the night. 

Bucky’s always been charming, and Bucky on a date is that charm turned up to eleven. He’s solicitous, hilarious, and always achingly handsome. It’s enough to make Steve want to beg off, but if he does that, then he’s letting down Bucky, who must want this guy to meet Steve, but more importantly he’s letting down himself. He’s the one with a problem here. It’s his job to figure things out. 

Bucky’s late getting there, and by the time he shows up, Steve’s had a couple of shots and a few beers, trying to exorcise his nerves. Then he sees the guy, and he just wants to scream: Are you fucking kidding me?

The guy is tall and blonde and built, with all-American good looks and a hint of a dimple on his left cheek. His eyes are almost the same color as Bucky’s. He’s gorgeous. 

They look great together. 

Without thinking twice, Steve goes up to the bartender and orders another round of shots and a pitcher of beer. He probably should have eaten more than a protein bar before he left the house, but fuck it. He doesn’t have it in him to face this sober. Luckily, everyone else seems just as bent as he is on getting drunk. 

Two hours later, the guy--Oliver--leaves, but Bucky sticks around. Steve switched to water (at Sam’s insistence), so he’s sobering up and not thrilled about it. The worst part was that the guy was nice. He’s a political science professor at CUNY, and spoke passionately about social justice, intersectional feminism, and the abject failures of late-stage capitalism. He was engaging, solicitous of Bucky, and a terrible dancer. 

He was perfect. 

Steve wants to hate him, but he can’t seem to find a single flaw. 

Clint and Nat are engaged in a deep conversation, and Wanda’s on the dance floor with Edwin, a new guy she’s been seeing. Bucky leans over and shoves Steve’s shoulder with his..

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Just a long day.”

“You sure?” Bucky asks, and Steve can feel the heat of Bucky’s shoulder through his shirt. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, finding a genuine smile for Bucky. “I’m sure. So. Oliver?” he asks, because he hates himself. 

Bucky shrugs. “Not important,” he says, and Steve suppresses a shiver. He dreads the day that Bucky says that the person he’s dating is important. He doesn’t know how he’s going to cope, knowing that Bucky’s finally given his whole heart to someone else. Knowing that his favorite person--the best person he knows--doesn’t see him the same way.

As if sensing the turn in Steve’s mood, Bucky nudges his shoulder. “Come on, come dance with me.” 

Steve takes a long look at Bucky. He’s been drinking pretty heavily, something that’s unusual when he’s on a date. His words are slurry, and his posture a little sloppy. 

He leans toward Steve with a grin. “C’mon.”

“You know I can’t dance,” Steve says. 

“S’not true. You just need the right song.”

_ Or maybe the right partner, _ Steve thinks. 

“C’mon.” Bucky stands and holds his hand out for Steve, so he takes it because he’s so, so weak.

The music is something fast and poppy, and Bucky obviously loves it. He’s shaking his ass like it’s his job, and that thought brings up a visual that makes Steve glad for the dark dance floor. 

At one point Bucky moves against Steve, his back to Steve’s chest, leaning his head back onto Steve’s shoulder. His arms come up around Steve’s neck, so Steve rests his hands on Bucky’s hips. Then Bucky presses back further, grinding his ass up against Steve and that’s--that is not--he can’t  _ do  _ this. 

He grabs Bucky’s hips and holds them away, then turns Bucky so that he’s facing Steve again. Bucky goes with it, loose and easy in Steve’s arms, body moving to the beat. Christ he wants him. He wants to put his mouth right against Bucky’s, taste the whiskey on his tongue and the salt on his skin. He wants to hold Bucky to him, move with him, make him feel--make him finally  _ feel  _ it, all the things that Steve never says. 

“What are you doing?” Steve says. 

“Dancing,” is the only answer he gets. 

Bucky closes his eyes and tips his head back, body turning lithe and liquid under Steve’s hands. He pushes his hips forward, again grinding into Steve, and this time, Steve lets him. His hips move and his body rolls all the way up to his shoulders. Steve feels like he a platform for Bucky’s display, and realizes he’s okay with that. Why wouldn’t he be? Bucky is gorgeous, and it feels like he’s dancing just for Steve. 

They go on like this for a couple of songs, Bucky performing against Steve’s stage, and then the music shifts to something slow, and there Bucky is, his head on Steve’s shoulder, arms around his neck, nuzzling in. 

“We found your song,” Bucky mutters, and Steve holds him a little closer, dipping his head down. Jesus, even his hair smells good. 

“Might be time to get you home,” Steve says. “What do you think?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Let’s go home.”

He doesn’t move though. He keeps his arms wrapped around Steve, body swaying to the music. 

“Alright,” Steve says. “Come on. You can crash at my place.”

Then Bucky does move, breaking away from Steve and looking at him, eyes sleepy and mouth soft. He scrunches his nose like he’s going to say something, then blinks, and doesn’t. 

Instead, Steve gets one of Bucky’s slow smirks. He looks up at Steve from under his lashes and says, “Yeah, alright. Let’s go.”

By the time they get to Steve’s house, Bucky’s halfway asleep, and Steve has to struggle to to get him out of his jacket and shoes. There’s no way he’s undressing Bucky--that’s crossing a line, even for him. He gets Bucky to take some Advil and some Tums for his stomach. To his credit, Bucky drinks an entire glass of water. 

Steve wrestles him into bed (they’ve shared a bed since they were kids) and sets a back up alarm for nine, which is around the time Bucky usually gets up on weekends. He grabs a pair of sleep pants and changes in the bathroom, after brushing his teeth and washing up. 

Climbing into bed, Steve is exhausted and so ready for sleep. Patting down his pillow, he turns over and comes face to face with Bucky, who’s watching him through half-lidded eyes. 

“Hey,” Steve says. 

“Hey,” Bucky answers. “Thanks for dancing with me.”

“Is that what you call what you were doing?”

“Shut up,” Bucky says. Just...needed out of my head a little. Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Of course.”

They stare at each other, moonlight spilling in through the cracks in the blinds, the silence breathing around them. 

“I set your alarm for nine,” Steve says. 

Bucky gives him a sweet, soft smile, then blinks. “You’re the best,” he says, and flutters his fingertips down Steve’s face. “I love you, pal.”

It’s not the first time Bucky’s been an overly affectionate drunk.

It’s not the first time he’s said that to Steve.

This time, though, the words wrap around Steve’s heart and squeeze hard. 

It’s so close to everything he wants, and it’s still a million miles away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> September will be up by Friday. You've been warned.
> 
> My biggest thanks and sincere gratitude for those of you who are cheering this on, reblogging and retweeting this story. I'm always blown away by how generous this fandom is, and I'm so thankful. <3 
> 
> I'm chicklette on tumblr, pillowfort, and dreamwidth (I don't really use the last two). I'm chicklette_ on twitter.


	9. September

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wish you all the love in the world, but most of all, I wish it from myself - Christine McVie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEE END NOTES FOR LANGUAGE WARNING
> 
> All of my love to alittleblackfox. She gives me such lovely beta advice. This whole fic is better for it. (That said, I often fiddle after the fact. All mistakes are mine.

When Sam knocks on Steve’s door, he’s holding a pizza, a 12-pack, and a dozen of Darlene Wilson’s famous double-chocolate cookies. 

“Hey,” Steve says, opening the door and taking the pizza from Sam. “What’s all this.”

“Just...thought we could kick it.”

“...Okay.” It’s far enough out of character to leave Steve blinking. 

Sam comes in and they turn on the baseball game. The Mets are playing the Yankees, and Steve loves to jeer the team in pinstripes. 

It’s a nice day, with sunshine slanting through the window, warming Steve’s apartment, but a cool breeze keeping it from becoming uncomfortable. Steve’s just about relaxed into the game: it’s the top of the fourth, he’s full of pizza and beer, and is giving the cookies that Sam brought some serious thought. 

“So, Steve,” Sam says. He pauses long enough for Steve to realize that whatever he’s about to say is the entire reason for his visit. He tries to think about all the things that might warrant the full court press, and smiles when he thinks he’s found it.

“Yeah?” Steve asks.

“I wanted to talk to you about something. I don’t want you to blow it out of proportion, but, I think it’s time.”

Steve can’t hide his grin. “Okay,” he says. “Just, before you start? I’m really happy for you, Sam. Really.”

The confused as fuck look on Sam’s face is Steve’s first clue that he might be wrong.

“What are you talking about?”

“I...thought you might...uhm, be getting married?”

Sam gives him a look that only Sam Wilson can give, one that says ‘you’re an idiot but I love you anyway,” just before he cracks up.

“I don’t--okay, so not that,” Steve says. Still, Sam’s laughter is infectious, and before he knows it, they’re both chuckling.

“I do love her,” Sam says. “And will marry her one day, but no.”

Steve shrugs and grins in response. 

“How long have you known Bucky?” Sam asks. “Exactly.”

Smiling, Steve says, “I don’t know...twenty-four years, seven months and...ten days?”

“And how long have you been in love with him? Exactly.”

Steve’s face falls because fuck. Fuck. “I guess...twenty-four years, seven months and maybe nine days?”

“That’s what I thought.”

“You know that?” Steve asks. He’s been so careful. This can’t be happening. 

“Yeah.” 

“Does everyone else know?” This would explain so much, those looks Nat gives him sometimes.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, God,” Steve says, eyes wide. “Do you think Bucky knows?”

Sam takes a deep breath. “Yeah.”

“Oh, this is....this is bad news.” Closing his eyes, Steve thinks for a minute that if he just keeps them closed, then he’ll never have to look anyone in the eye again. That’d be okay, right?

“Steve.” Sam’s using his patient voice, the one that he uses when he leads group down at the VA. It makes Steve feel about an inch tall. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t--I’m--I,” he stutters, then takes a deep breath. If what Sam’s saying is true, and Bucky knows? Then Steve already has his answer. “Nothing. I’m going to do nothing.”

“What the hell?”

“Sam, if you’re right and he knows how I feel, then he’s had every opportunity to say something, and hasn’t. He’s not interested. I’m not going to push it.”

“Or you could try talking to him. Just a...great idea I had.”

Shaking his head, Steve looks away. “He’s my best friend in the world, Sam. If he felt...what I feel, he’d have told me by now. The last thing I want is to make him uncomfortable. No,” he says, setting his shoulders back. “This is for the best. I have my answer.” 

“No, you don’t!” Sam’s voice is exasperated. “You won’t have an answer until you talk to him.”

“Okay, Sam,” Steve says, even though they both know he’s placating Sam. “I’ll think about it. Wanna pass me a cookie?”

Sam does, with an exaggerated sigh, and the two of them watch another three innings before Sam packs up to leave. Steve’s grateful that Sam’s letting the subject drop. Once he says his piece, he’s usually happy to let things go. 

It’s just--Bucky is his best friend. Bucky is his family. Losing him is not a risk that Steve is willing to take. He knows how to be brave, but not about this. 

Sam splits the last cookie with Steve, and as he gets to the front door, he turns. “You know what Misty said to me when I told her why I was coming over here? She said, ‘I wonder what Steve’s like when he’s happy.’ And you know what? I wonder that too.”

It’s a gut punch that Steve was not ready for, and it leaves him reeling. Long after the game is over, Steve sits in front of the television, not seeing anything at all. His dream of Bucky has been so real, and for so long, that it’s like it’s a part of him.

In the end though, he thinks Sam got it wrong. They all think he’s unhappy, and he’s not. Steve can’t count the number of times he’s felt good, felt happy, in the last few months. It’s just that each of those times when he was happy? He was with Bucky. 

So it’s not that Steve isn’t happy. He just doesn’t know how to be happy without Bucky. 

But it’s clear to him now: He’s going to have to try. 

.

A couple of weeks go by, and Steve’s ready to do what needs to be done. He’s ready to start dating again. He’s got to start trying to move forward. 

He’s in the middle of building a dating profile when Bucky drops by, asking to borrow Steve’s space heater. Bucky’s got a basement apartment and it’s already getting cold. His space heater fizzled out early in spring, and he hasn’t gotten around to replacing it. 

“Hey, are you drawing?” Bucky asks, letting himself in with his key. 

Steve’s sitting on the couch with the tablet in his hand, tapping away with the stylus. 

“What?” he asks. “Oh! No. Just...nothing.” He sets the tablet down and gets up to greet Bucky.

“No, really,” Bucky says, walking over and picking up the tablet. “Are you drawing? I want to see.”

Steve goes to grab the tablet, which is still on, when Bucky looks down. “Best gay dating apps for 2018?” He pulls back and looks at Steve. “You’re downloading Grind’r?” 

Steve can’t miss the mild revulsion in Bucky’s voice. He shrugs. “Just looking at my options.” 

Fact is, it’s been over a year since Steve’s been on a date. The last person he was with was Sharon. Since then, he hasn’t felt right pursuing a relationship when he knew that no one stood a chance next to Bucky. 

Shrugging, Bucky hands the tablet back to Steve. “Guess you’re over Sharon, huh?” 

Steve doesn’t say anything when he takes the tablet from Bucky, stows it in its sleeve, and sets it on the table. “You want a beer?” he asks. 

An hour later, Bucky’s ordered a couple of chopped cheese sandwiches from the deli down the street. The delivery guy brings that and a six-pack, and the baseball game plays in the background as the two of them shoot the breeze. 

It’s good. After a few minutes of stilted conversation, the two of them get back on track. Bucky tells Steve about his latest project--AI enhanced nano-tech that can respond to a user’s thoughts. The goal is to eventually use it in prosthetics, allowing the user a seamless interaction with their artificial limb.

Steve looks at Bucky with wonder. “You must love this,” he says. “You lived for all that Sci-Fi stuff when we were kids.

Bucky gets a dopey grin on his face. “I really do,” he confides. “Working for SI, it’s incredible.”

After a while, Steve gets up to use the bathroom, dig out his old space heater, and grab a couple more beers. It’s been a great afternoon, and it gives him hope. Even if he never has Bucky the way he wants him, at least they’ll always have this: Cold beer, baseball on the television, and hanging out, just like when they were kids. It’s enough.

“Oh, hey,” Steve yells, turning to go back into the living room. “Jordan Peele is rebooting the Twilight Zone. How great is...Buck?”

But Bucky doesn’t seem to be listening. Instead, he’s flicking through something on Steve’s tablet, and when Steve gets closer, he--God, he wants to die. 

Looking down, he sees Bucky paging through his tablet. Only Bucky’s not looking through his Reddit history, or his facebook, or anything like that. Instead, Bucky’s looking through the folder labeled “Best.” 

It’s the folder where Steve has stored every picture of Bucky Barnes that he has ever drawn. There are hundreds. There are...God, he doesn’t even know how many there are. There are the sketches that he did as a kid, and later digitized. The ones he did while getting his MFA (he promised Sarah he would, and he kept that promise, even after he fell in love with the alchemy of flour and yeast), and the ones he’s done since then. There are pages of Bucky’s eyes, Bucky’s mouth.  _ God.  _

“That’s not…” He doesn’t know how to end the sentence.

“I wanted to see what you were gonna write for your dating profile. Make sure you weren’t selling yourself short.”

“Bucky, I….” He has no idea what to say.

“These are all...me.” Bucky still has his eyes glued to the tablet. “These are all...Steve?”

When he looks up at Steve, he looks gutted. He looks like he did when he was a kid, and Becca flushed his GI Joe down the toilet, or when Jimmy Manning let Bucky give him a handjob under the bleachers and then called him a fag in front of the whole school. Betrayed.

He looks like he’s going to be ill. 

Steve reaches down and takes tablet from him, flicking the screen off. “I’ve got the...I found the heater.”

Bucky’s looking at him, waiting for some kind of explanation and Steve, God, he  _ can’t. _

“Steve?” With that one word, Steve understands that Bucky knows. He knows. 

And he knows that Bucky doesn’t feel the same.

“I--” Steve looks away, feels his eyes starting to grow hot and wet.

Then Bucky is standing, getting right into Steve’s face. “Who were you talking about? Coming back from Fishtown, that was Sharon, right? You were--” He shakes his head. “That was Sharon, right?”

Steve takes a deep breath and a step back. He holds the heater up in front of himself, like it can shield him from the storm that’s coming. “If you leave it on for more than an hour at a time, it'll short out, so, use the timer? Uhm….” He shrugs, at a loss.

He has to--God, he has to  _ go. _

“I’ve gotta get to the bakery. Staff meeting. Uh, late meeting. You can - lock up when you go?”

“Steve. Come on. We have to talk about this.”

He’s already standing at the door, keys in his hand, cell phone in his pocket. “I can’t--You’re...you’re my best friend,” he says, and then shrugs. “I can’t.” 

He’s down the stairs and out the door before he takes his next breath. Then he’s walking, walking. It hits him then, all over again, and Christ.  _ Christ.  _

He doesn’t know how they’re going to come back from this. He doesn’t know how to try. 

He’s spent most of his life in love with Bucky Barnes. And now Bucky  _ knows. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is one quick moment in this chapter where Steve recalls someone calling Bucky a gay slur. 
> 
> October is written and is looong. I'll have it up as soon as possible!
> 
> If you're looking for a truly wonderful fic to read, look no further than [Sunshine's Gifts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14826038/chapters/34310675) by Quarra and wearing_tearing. It's the best thing I've read since I don't know when. 
> 
> I am chicklette on tubmlr, dreamwidth and pillowfort, and chicklette_ on twitter. Come yell about idiots in love with me.


	10. October

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flowing into your arms, falling into your eyes. - Sugarbabes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alittleblackfox beta'd with a swiftness. If you all could see the comments she makes, you would know how lucky I am to have her. All errors are mine. <3

By the time the first of October rolls around, Steve’s managed to enter a state of self isolation. He’s avoiding Sam, Natasha’s sent him a dozen unanswered texts, and Bucky...well, Bucky’s called, he’s texted, he’s emailed. He’s reached out to Steve dozens of times, and Steve hasn’t found it in himself to respond. 

He knows he needs to.

He knows it. 

But once he does, well...once he confronts the truth of how he feels about Bucky, once he says it out loud, there’s no going back. Bucky’s his best friend. Bucky’s his only family. 

It feels like the worst kind of arrogance to ask for more. Worse than that--it feels like the worst kind of neediness to to ask for something he knows Bucky doesn’t want to give. 

What if they try, and it doesn’t work? Steve has so much to lose. 

If it was Bucky asking him to try, Steve knows he would do it in a heartbeat. Even if he didn’t feel that way for Bucky, he’d try. The thought stops him cold, because, God, what if Bucky does the same thing? What if Bucky agrees to try just because it’s what Steve wants? Not out of desire or  _ want _ , but because it’s what would make Steve happy. 

Could he live with that? 

The shudder that runs through him at the thought tells him no. No, he can’t. 

There’s also a small voice inside of him saying that he deserves better than that. Even if Bucky is the best thing Steve’s ever seen, doesn’t Steve deserve someone who feels that way about him? He doesn’t want Bucky at any cost. No, what Steve wants is so much more: He wants Bucky to want him as badly as he wants Bucky. He wants Bucky to crave him, not just give in to him. 

He wants the impossible.

By the time Steve gets home, it’s late. He’s been working extra hours, trying to do anything that will keep him busy, keep his mind off of things. It’s dark when he climbs the steps to his building, but there, sitting halfway up the steps in a splash of moonlight, is Bucky.

He looks good, hair a little long and fluffy on top, in dark jeans and the dark blue peacoat that his Mom bought him last year. 

He gives Steve a long, appraising look. “So,” Bucky says, standing up. “You’re alive.”

Steve pauses, his body stilling as he processes what’s happening. He feels the adrenaline rush, his body gearing up for fight or flight, and just as quickly, it shuts down. 

He’s had over a week to mope and mourn. It’s time to face the music. 

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says. His voice sounds weary even to his own ears. 

“You never call, you never write,” Bucky’s got a soft smile, his tone gentle. “Had me a little worried, pal.”

Here, Steve does have the good grace to feel ashamed. “I’m sorry. Want to come up?”

At that, Bucky’s face brightens. “Yeah. He grabs a sack from the ground. “I brought a couple of sandwiches and some beer, but...I’ve been waiting a while.” 

Steve laughs. “Guess it’s a good thing I already ate.”

Once they’re inside, Steve puts away the half sandwich and the now-warm beer. He considers having something stronger - he’s pretty sure there’s a half bottle of whiskey in the cupboard, but in the end, no. He needs to face this, and he needs to have a clear head while doing so. 

He pours himself a glass of water, drinks it down, then pours another. He pours one for Bucky, and meets him in the living room, where Bucky is fidgeting on the sofa. 

“We gonna talk?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah,” he says, offering Bucky the glass. “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a punk like that. I just...Steve, what the hell?”

Here Steve finds he can’t quite look Bucky in the face. “What do you want me to say, Buck? I never wanted you to find out.”

“Find out what, exactly?” 

There Steve does give him a look, and Bucky gives him one right back. 

“Would you rather I jump to conclusions?” Bucky asks.

A very small part of Steve wants him to do just that. It wants to let Bucky jump to any and all conclusions because that way he might save a little bit of face. 

But that’s not who Steve is. 

Squaring back his shoulders, he looks Bucky in the eye. “I’m in love with you.”

Bucky’s eyes widen. He takes a deep breath, runs his hand through his hair, then blows the breath out. 

“And I didn’t say anything because I know you don’t feel the same.”

Bucky looks like he’s going to say something, and Steve holds his hand out to stay him. “They’re my feelings, and I’ll deal with them. Which, I realize now, I haven’t been doing. But,” he shrugs. “I’m working on it. 

“How do you know I don’t feel the same, huh? You never even gave me a chance.”

“Do you?” Steve asks. He hates-- _ hates _ \--the hope that’s in his voice. 

“I--no,” Bucky says, looking away. “I mean, it’s not like you’re hard on the eyes, Rogers, the idea has crossed my mind, but, I’m not gonna lie to you and say I’m in love with you.”

And there it is. It doesn’t hit Steve like a punch in the gut he thought it would. His breath doesn’t leave his body all in a whoosh, but he does feel his heart squeeze hard in his chest, and it squeezes and squeezes and doesn’t let up. That one little thread of hope that he’s been nursing stutters and dims, and he hadn’t realized, not right until this moment, how much he’s been nurturing that frail hope. 

“Look,” Steve says. “I know, okay? I’ve been...I’m working on it.”

Bucky leans forward, runs his hand through his hair. “I gotta say, I feel like a shitty friend. All this time you’ve going through something, and I didn’t even know.”

“Hey,” Steve says. “Come on. It’s not something either one of us could help, okay?” 

Bucky gives Steve a long look, then shrugs. “I mean, we could try? Do you want that?”

It’s hot, and visceral, how much Steve  _ doesn’t  _ want that. “Sure” he says, tone biting, “You’re gonna fall on my dick so you don’t have to feel bad? What the fuck?”

“I don’t know!” Bucky says, and gets up to pace. “I just--I just want us to be okay again, Jesus. If, I mean, I’ll try it, okay? If you want it, it can’t be that bad. I’ll try.”

“For fuck’s sake, Bucky, I don’t want you to try!” 

“Then what do you want?” 

They’re both yelling now, but Steve can’t help it. He doesn’t want whatever halfway bullshit Bucky’s trying to offer. There’s a part of him--a small part--that’s proud of himself. He always wondered what he’d do if Bucky offered. Now he knows. 

Taking a deep breath, Steve wills himself to calm down. “I want,” he starts, and takes another breath. “I want someone who wants me as much as I want them. You should want that, too.”

Bucky stops pacing and looks at Steve, stricken. He sits down, hard.

“That’s not--I didn’t think about it like that.”

“I know.”

“So what now?”

Leaning over, Steve puts his head in his hands. He rubs his face, breathes deep, and scrubs his hands through his hair. 

“Now we do what we always did. We treat each other like best friends, because that’s what we are.”

“Steve….”

“You got a better idea? ‘Cause I’m all ears.”

Bucky looks at him for a long moment. Steve watches as a dozen arguments come to his mouth and die on his tongue. 

“No. Shit, I’m sorry. No.”

Steve holds back a grimace; he knew how this was going to go. 

“Okay,” Bucky says. “Okay. Radical subject change?”

“Please.”

You got Nat’s invite?”

Shaking his head, Steve says, “I might have missed a few texts.”

“You don’t say,” Bucky says, cocking a brow. But then he smiles, and Steve feels like it all might actually be okay. “SI’s having a costume party, Halloween night. They’re doing contests for best couple, best costumes, all of it. It’s going to be amazing, and…” He draws back and points finger guns at Steve. “Free bar.”

“Well,” Steve says. “Assuming you don’t have a plus one by then, how can I resist?”

At that, Bucky’s face falls. “Is it bad that I always think of you as my plus one? I mean, I don’t want to drag a bunch of different people to these things, and we always have fun together...don’t we?”

Steve sighs. “Yeah, Buck, we do. But maybe this should be the last one for a while, okay? You keep treating me--” he cuts himself off, looking for a better way to say what needs to be said. How does he explain that Bucky’s constant attention, the way he’s always touching Steve, always hanging all over him--God the dancing. How does he explain that it only keeps Steve’s hopes alive?

“We keep living in each other’s back pockets,” Steve says. “Maybe that makes it hard for us to let other people in.”

He watches as Bucky’s brow crinkles, then smoothes. “Alright Stevie. Whatever you need.”

“Okay. So what are you going to go as?”

The two discuss costumes, ultimately deciding that they’ll think on it and regroup later. 

When Bucky finally turns to leave, they both stand, awkward, at the door. 

“I…”Bucky starts to go in for a hug, then pulls back, sticking out his hand. 

“Fuck off,” Steve says, pulling Bucky close for a hug. “You’re still my best friend.”

Bucky squeezes him harder. “We’ll get through this,” he says, and it’s true. Steve knows they will. 

“Alright,” Steve says. “Give me a call when you think of a costume.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Same.”

.

Bucky starts out the night of the Halloween party feeling great. Earlier that day, he’d gotten an email from Tony Stark himself congratulating him on his latest project. It sent Bucky flying, and as he dressed for the party, that good feeling only increased. 

His costume is amazing. Nat had it delivered to his office earlier that day, and they’d both been excited once they’d unzipped the bag. 

Plus? He gets to hang out with Steve tonight. 

Ever since he found that file on Steve’s tablet, and listened to Steve’s confession, things have been a little strained between them. Bucky’s constantly trying to give Steve space, and Steve seems hyper aware of how much time they spend together, how often they touch, and Steve’s awareness just makes Bucky more aware. 

To say he was surprised by Steve’s confession is an understatement. He was shocked. Stunned.

He’d had no idea.

(There’s a tiny, tiny part of his brain saying that that’s not entirely true, but Bucky drowns that out before the idea can get any traction.)

What kind of a friend does that make him, anway?

Of course, his impulse is to right the wrong: to spend more time with Steve, make himself more available. Steve is one of the most important people in Bucky’s life. He needs to be sure that Steve knows that.

Unfortunately, being close is the opposite of what Steve wants or needs.

So Bucky has to stand at the sidelines and watch, waiting for the moments when Steve invites him in. 

It’s - it’s  _ killing _ him. Honestly, it is. A week ago they’d been at brunch, and Sam was talking to Steve about dating, and Bucky hadn’t even known Steve was trying again, and didn’t that just sum it all up? 

So Bucky listened and encouraged. He watched Steve smile and noticed the flush on his cheeks when Sam asked how well it went, and he resigned himself to the idea that Steve was actively trying to replace him, at least in one way. 

And he tries to be happy for Steve. 

But the fact is, he misses him. He misses his best friend, and now nothing’s the same. He wants to be able to call Steve first thing, and tell him about his good days, and seek comfort for his bad days, but he knows that for Steve to be happy, he needs to let that go, at least for a while.

It makes him sad, knowing that someday Steve won’t be his first phone call anymore. Someday, he’s not going to have that right. 

Bucky frowns at himself in the mirror, then draws back to take in his whole look. Natasha found him the perfect pirate costume, complete with leather pants (that made his ass look spectacular), a silky black shirt that left a lot of his chest on view, and a black leather vest that was butter soft and closed around his chest and waist in a cascade of staggered buckles. He’d drawn a bit of kohl along his lashes--nothing too outre--but enough, he hopes, to garner a few second looks. A bit of paste in his hair leaves it looking a tad darker and artfully disheveled--just like a pirate, fresh from the sea.

All in all, Bucky’s feeling good. He looks good, he’s going to what is sure to be Manhattan’s hottest Halloween party, and he gets to do it with his best friend. It’s going to be a great night. 

When he gets to the party, he pulls out his phone and texts Steve. Whoever designed leather pants must have done so last century because there is  _ not  _ room for a phone. He shrugs, looking around. The ballroom is amazing, fog machines are going full blast and it looks like there’s six inches or more of fog covering the ground. The lighting is spooky, casting dark shadows all around, and there are giant spiderwebs and cobwebs strung up along the walls. 

Bucky doesn’t get a response to his text, so he grabs a table near the bar and scopes out the party. He’s not sure what Steve’s coming as, since they’d agreed to surprise one another. Nat was a lifesaver, and he hopes she picked something equally awesome for Steve. 

Speaking of Nat, he spots her and Clint against the far wall. Nat looks devastating, dressed all in black with a bright red hourglass across her abdomen and something like spiderwebs clinging to her arms and waist. Clint has a bow and arrow strapped to his back, so Bucky’s guessing he’s dressed as Robin Hood? Knowing Clint he’s just happy to have a weapon, even if it is (probably) only Nerf arrows. 

Getting ready to head to the bar, Bucky spots a guy with maybe the nicest ass he’s ever seen. He’s dressed all in black, with some kind of hood on, but from what Bucky can see, the guy is built. Wide shoulders, small waist, and an ass like a peach. Bucky might want to bite it. 

With any luck, maybe later tonight he will. 

He’s about to walk over to the bar to strike up a conversation when the guy turns. He’s tall, maybe even taller than Bucky. Bucky can’t get a look on his face though, because everything but his eyes are covered with a black mask. It’s then that he notices the katana at the guy’s back.

Ninja, then, Bucky thinks. Jesus, this guy. Bucky hopes with everything in him that the guy is single and at least somewhat into guys. He is more than happy to take it from there. 

Bucky’s caught between wanting to go over and introduce himself, and staying put to hold the table for his party, when his issue is resolved by the man in question turning and walking toward him. He is absolute muscled grace, holding a pair of beer bottles in his hand, as he makes his way across the floor. He tips one Bucky’s way in a kind of salute. 

Bucky feels himself flush and tries to school his expression into something neutral when the guy approaches. 

“Permission to board?” the man says, and Bucky’s entire world shatters. 

This isn’t just some guy.

This is...this is  _ Steve. _

“What?” Bucky says, trying to get his head around the various fantasies he’s conjured up for the body in front of him, and the fact that that body belongs to Steve. 

His Steve.

Little Steve Rogers who has been his best friend since the second grade. 

What the hell?

It takes Bucky longer than it should to recover. Luckily, Steve’s eyes are dancing around the room, so he doesn’t notice the way that Bucky stares. 

He can’t take his eyes off of Steve. 

He’s so...Jesus. He’s gorgeous. 

He’s gorgeous and all Bucky is seeing are his eyes. 

It’s like a switch flipped and instead of seeing his best friend, only a little bigger, Bucky’s seeing Steve. The Steve who has kind eyes and an artist’s hands. The Steve with an ass that literally won’t quit and a waist to hip ratio that is making Bucky’s eyes cross. The Steve who is now pulling off the mask covering his lower face, and grinning at Bucky with a smile brighter than the goddamned sun.

How has he missed this, all these years?

“Hey,” Steve says, voice filling with concern and fingertips on Bucky’s hand, hesitant. “You okay?”

Before Bucky can formulate the right response, his brain and face autopilot one for him. “Sure, Steve,” he says, feeling his mouth smile. “I’m great. You?” Bucky picks up the beer that Steve brought him and sips, not hearing a word that Steve is saying. 

His wrist still tingles from where Steve touched him. 

What. The. Fuck?

As the evening goes on, Bucky drinks, and Bucky watches. He watches as men and women approach Steve, asking to dance, to touch him. He watches as Steve takes their hands, his face bashful as he explains that he’s a terrible dancer. (He’s not. That’s the thing: Bucky made sure that Steve could move way back in high school. Steve is one of the most beautifully graceful creatures Bucky has ever seen. It’s part of why he’s always loved dancing with Steve. 

Isn’t it?) 

Bucky watches as partner after partner leans into him, dances up against him, watches how their hands touch Steve’s, none of them even noticing that little bump on his middle finger from where he grips his pencils too hard. 

Jesus.

He goes to the bar for another shot, but as he approaches, his name is being called out by the Emcee. 

Listening, Bucky hear’s Steve’s name as well.

Offuckingcourse. Couple’s Costume Contest. Pirates vs. Ninjas. Offuckingcourse.

When he sees Nat he’s going to strangle her.

Searching the ballroom he finds not Nat, but Steve, his eyes bright with laughter. “Nat said we’d be a shoe in,” he says, taking Bucky’s hand. “Come on.”

They do, in fact, win best couple, with Steve posing at one point with the Katana, then crouching down and when did he get that flexible? 

Bucky shakes his head. He needs to figure out what the hell is going on with him before he does something stupid. 

The night passes in a blur. Bucky laughs and talks and dances. He knows he looks good, and he works his leather pants with every shake of his hips. There are shots and shots and Steve, pressing something cold and wet and bland into his hand, but he can’t be bothered with that. Really, all he’s doing is watching Steve. Looking at him like he’s...what? Like he’s the best thing Bucky’s ever seen? 

All he knows is that the can’t keep his eyes off of Steve, and that Steve doesn’t seem to have any problem giving his attention to other people. 

Is this what he wants? A future where Steve puts his eyes on anyone but Bucky, gives himself away to any passing stranger? Bucky’s not sure, and he knows he needs to be. He can still hear Steve saying “I’m in love with you.” He can still feel that heartstopping moment of panic over Steve wanting something that Bucky couldn’t give him.

Is that why he panicked? Or was it something more? Each time he tries to dig around the feeling, his heart starts to pound and suddenly he can’t breathe. 

He goes to the bathroom to splash some water on his face and get a fucking grip. While he’s in there, he takes a moment to straighten his costume, and retouch his eyeliner. He looks at himself in the mirror, biting his lip and watching as it fills with blood, becomes red.

What would it be like to kiss Steve?

The thought comes into his head unbidden, and he finds he can’t think about anything else. Is Steve a slow, soft kisser? Would he take his time, exploring Bucky’s mouth, maybe cupping his jaw? Or is he a passionate kisser, all tongue and lips and teeth, holding Bucky right where he wants him until the kiss is through? 

Despite being Steve’s best friend for his whole life, and having seen Steve with multiple partners over the years, Bucky suddenly realizes that he can’t recall a single kiss between Steve and someone else. Anyone else. 

He rubs a hand over his chest before leaning forward against the counter. 

“Get it fucking together, Barnes,” he says, and man in the mirror blinks back at him. “Don’t do something you’ll regret,” he cautions. 

He nods at himself, runs a hand through his hair, and walks back out to the party, where his little pep-talk is completely forgotten.

There, on the dancefloor, is Steve Rogers, shaking his ass, and thrusting his hips, and smiling--smiling!--at a tall, dark haired man who is definitely not Bucky.

As Bucky approaches, Steve catches sight of him and grins. It’s his slightly dopey grin, the one that says he’s had a little too much to drink, and is feeling himself. 

“Mind if I cut in?” Bucky asks, and Mr. Tall, Dark, and Not-Bucky goggles for a minute before sighing and stepping aside. 

“Natasha knows how to reach me,” he says, smiling at Steve like Steve is double-fudge sundae. 

“Alright,” Steve answers, and _ smiles back. _

Ugh. 

“Hey,” Steve says, letting Bucky lead them toward the edge of the dance floor. “You having fun?”

“I guess,” Bucky says. “Who was that guy?”

“His name’s Joe? Nat introduced us,” Steve answers, but Bucky notices that Steve looks over Bucky’s shoulder, eyes following the guy as he walks away. 

The music changes and Bucky’s had enough of Steve’s eyes on someone else. “I fucking love this song,” he says, getting close to Steve and putting his hands on Steve’s hips. When he glances up, Steve’s staring down at him, a light smile on his lips. 

“C’mon,” Bucky says, shimmying closer. “Let’s show ‘em what we got.”

He moves with the music, leaning into Steve, swaying his hips, grinding his ass up against Steve, and leaving precious little to the imagination. There’s nothing wrong with it. They always dance like this. 

At one point Steve puts his hands on Bucky’s hips and pushes them away, but Bucky just leans back, tipping his head against Steve’s shoulder, pressing his back up against Steve’s chest. 

It’s a little bit awkward, staying so close, but if that’s what it takes to...to what? He’s not sure. He just knows he feels better being closer. 

He’s just been missing Steve is all.

Then the music changes to something slower and bless that band. It’s lovely. Bucky turns and puts his arms around Steve’s neck, pressing close and snuggling in. 

“You having fun?” Steve asks. 

Bucky hums and sways with the beat. “You look good tonight,” Bucky says, because Steve does, and it’s okay if Bucky tells him so. 

“So, uhm, so do you. Your eyes, uhm…”

“Nat gave me it,” Bucky says, and leans his head back down on Steve’s shoulder. The room is a little spinny, it’s late and Bucky hasn’t been sleeping, so he’s sure if he just closes his eyes….

“Buck,” Steve says, and no, Bucky’s not going to acknowledge that. Steve’s using his sensible voice and it’s not fair because Bucky hasn’t gotten to spend time with Steve in forever and he misses Steve. He  _ misses  _ him.

For a moment, just a moment, the tension leaves Steve’s arms and he holds Bucky close. Bucky sighs against Steve’s neck, practically laying against him, before he leans up and presses a soft kiss to Steve’s throat. It’s warm under his lips. He thinks he can feel Steve’s pulse. 

Steve freezes, and pulls away. “What are you doing?” he asks, eyes wide.

“Missed you, he says. “Just wanna see.” Then he’s putting his mouth against Steve’s warm lips, and they’re moving with his and he was right: Steve kisses him soft and slow, his hand cupping Bucky’s jaw, making him melt all over. As he presses into the kiss, Steve stops moving, stops being soft and tentative. His other hand comes up to hold Bucky’s face, and before he can track what’s happening, Bucky is being kissed within an inch of his life. It’s wet and messy and absolutely feels like prelude to a fantastic fuck. Bucky’s wondering how sturdy that balcony outside is and whether it will hold their weight enough for Steve to fuck Bucky up against it. He can see it in his mind, his legs wrapped around that narrow waist, fingers fisted in thick blonde hair, when he freezes.

Because this is Steve.

He’s kissing Steve. 

He’s-- _ God _ \--he’s thinking about fucking Steve. 

Bucky pulls away and looks at Steve, shocked, and Steve looks back, an unnamable look on his face. 

“I...,” Bucky says, and shakes his head because how is this...how did this happen? 

This is a disaster. He’s not--he’s not ready for this.

He’s not….

Whatever Steve sees on his face, it’s not what he was hoping for. Bucky watches as Steve’s heart actually breaks, right there in front of him. He watches as Steve’s wonder turns to a frown, turns to a trembling chin and then Steve looks away, one hand flying to swipe at his eyes.

“Steve,” Bucky says, but now Steve is the one shaking his head. He looks up at Bucky with red-rimmed eyes, cheeks splotchy and breathing hard. 

“You missed me,” Steve says. “You missed me and you got--you were jealous,” he says, and Bucky can’t even deny that. He was. He was so jealous. “So you did this.”

Steve looks at him, his revulsion clear. “You couldn’t just let me try to be with someone else,” he says. “I have watched you--God, with so many other people. I have watched you flirt, I have let you--Jesus, Buck! I’ve let you use me to flirt with other people.

And you couldn’t even let me try to get over you.”

Bucky blinks, because, is that true? Is that why he…?

“Steve, wait,” Bucky says, reaching out and then drawing his hand back. 

“Am I wrong?” Steve asks. “Are you suddenly just dying to climb on my dick?”

“I don’t...I…” Is he? His gut reaction is to say no because up until five minutes ago, it was true.

Wasn’t it?

“Yeah, didn’t think so,” Steve says. 

The look he gives Bucky, Christ, Bucky just wants to die. “This is why I never wanted you to know,” Steve says. “This.” He holds his hands up, gesturing between them, shaking his head. 

And then he turns.

And then he walks away.

And Bucky stands there and looks around, and wonders what the fuck just happened.


	11. November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back and forth we sway like branches in a storm, change the weather, still together when it ends. - Maroon 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO MUCH LOVE FOR A LITTLE BLACK FOX YOU GUYS HAVE NO IDEA!!! She is beta love and I am so completely thrilled to have had her support for this fic. <3 <3 <3 She is a wonder; all mistakes are mine.

When Bucky sees the caller ID light up, so does he. 

“Hi,” Bucky says. He can’t keep the hope out of his voice. This is the first time he’s talked to Steve since the Halloween debacle, and he doesn’t want to do anything to screw it up. Waking up the morning after that night had been an experiment in self-loathing. The one thing Steve said he didn’t want was the one thing Bucky did. 

God.

“Hi,” Steve replies, voice flat. 

“What are you up to?” 

“I’m...I’m just on a break. Look, uhm, I’m calling about Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, yeah. Mom’s doing dinner around four, so I was thinking we could head over about ten? Dad’s gonna want to watch the game, and Becca and Dave are getting in Wednesday night. Becs is going to make those cinnamon rolls.”

“I’m...I’m not gonna go. Sam invited me to dinner with his family, so I’m gonna do that instead.”

“What?” If Bucky wasn’t already sitting down, he would be now. This isn’t...Steve has spent every Thanksgiving, every Christmas with the Barnes family since he was twelve. At first Steve and Sarah would come, and later, when Sarah was gone, Bucky and Steve would spend the weekend hiding out in Bucky’s room playing video games, sliding into the kitchen to steal leftovers before being shooed back out by Winnie.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, and Bucky can hear it in his voice. “I just think we need some space, okay? Not, you know, forever, but at least for now.”

“I don’t. Steve. You’re not coming home for Thanksgiving?”

The line is quiet for so long that Bucky starts to wonder if the call dropped. He’s holding his breath. 

“Bucky,” Steve says. “Please.” His voice is quiet and it’s, oh, fuck, he can tell that Steve is barely holding it together because of course. Of course this asshole is going to do some stupid self-sacrificing bullshit and not come home for Thanksgiving, even though he wants to. Because he doesn’t want to make it worse between them. Because his pride is hurt and his heart is hurt and Bucky’s the unspeakable asshole who did it.

“Okay,” he says, just a quiet. 

“I’ll call Winnie,” Steve says, and Bucky can hear how choked up he is. “I just...wanted to let you know.”

“Okay,” Bucky says again. If this is what Steve needs right now, then this is what Bucky will give him. 

“Well…”

“Hey. Look, I’m--I’m so sorry. And I just--I get it, okay? Take all the time you need. I’ll still be here.”

There’s another long silence, and then a sigh. “Thanks, Buck. I gotta go. Got bread in the oven.”

“Okay,” Bucky says. He finds he can’t quite bring himself to say goodbye first, so he waits, and after a beat, Steve says “Goodbye, Buck.”

Something about the way he says it leaves Bucky feeling like he’s on the verge of tears himself. 

Something about the way he says it makes it feel like an actual goodbye. 

.

A few hours later, Natasha calls him into her office. He goes over some of the technical details of the work he’s doing, translating it into lay terms, and she takes notes and asks questions. They’re just about to wrap up when she sets down her pen and looks him straight in the eye. 

“James,” she says, and that’s how Bucky knows he’s done something really wrong. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

“What?” he asks, and for some reason he realizes then exactly what she’s talking about. He shrugs and shakes his head.

“Are you in love with him?” she asks.

“No. Maybe? I don’t...I don’t know.”

“Which is it?”

“I don’t know!” Because God, it’s not like he hasn’t spent every other thought over the last week and a half thinking about it. He can’t deny that he’s attracted to Steve, but love? That’s...love is a lot. And maybe he’s just missing Steve, and it’s not love at all, but just selfishness. The one thing he knows is that he has to be sure. He will not jerk Steve around again.

“You don’t know,” Natasha says, “but you still felt the need to climb him like a tree at the party.” The look on her face and the tone of her voice let him know that she is deeply unimpressed. “No wonder he’s coming to Sam’s for Thanksgiving.”

“You’re going to Sam’s, too?”

“Mmhmm. We all are. Mrs. Wilson’s nice. And Sam’s sister is hilarious.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, and looks at his hands. He knows it’s not like that and he knows that’s not what’s happening, but it feels like their friends have chosen a side and it’s not Bucky. In a flash he can see all the other things that are going to start happening without him. The parties and casual dinners, baseball games and trivia nights.

The worst of it is that he doesn’t care about any of that. Let them all go and have a blast. No, what he cares about, the thing that’s just killing him, is that they’re going to be with Steve, and he won’t. 

“Look,” Natasha says. “I know you’re confused, and I know you’re sad, but you’ve gotta figure out what you want. I hope that when you do, Steve’s still around. He’s a great guy. He won’t be available forever.”

“I know,” Bucky says, sullen. “Have you talked to him? How is he?”

“Ask him yourself.”

“I don’t think he’s talking to me right now.”

“It’s like you’re made of actual stupidity,” she says, shaking her head. 

“I…okay. That’s fair. Hey, how did you know…?”

Natasha looks at him and he feels a chill. “Because I have eyes, you idiot. Now go.”

Bucky nods and walks away, feeling every inch the asshole that Natasha (and Steve, and Sam, and God, who else?) thinks he is. 

He tries to dig around in his heart, his mind, to find the right answer, but he keeps coming up short. Either way, he knows Nat is right. Steve is an amazing guy. Sooner or later, someone’s going to may a play for his heart, and someone’s going to succeed. 

Bucky just wishes he knew how he feels about that. 

.

**JBB:** I just wanted to say for the record that I’m sorry. You were right about everything. I know you want some space, and I want you to know that I’ll be here waiting. I’m with you til the end of the line.

Bucky looks at the text on his phone, his finger hovering over send. He’s cycled through a half dozen messages that range from “I’m sorry,” to “I miss you,” to “Get your stupid ass over here and be my friend again,” but hasn’t managed to hit send on any of them.

If what Steve wants right now is space, then Bucky’s going to respect that.

It’s the least he can do. 

He thumbs over to the back button and saves the text to his drafts. 

He wishes he knew how to fix this. 

.

Thanksgiving morning breaks bright and beautiful and wrong. Bucky makes coffee, showers, and heads over to his folk’s place. When he gets there, his mom pulls him into a long, deep hug, his dad pats him on the back, and Becca hands him one of her famous cinnamon-orange sweet rolls. He can feel them all being gentle with him even as they don’t ask what’s going on.

It’s not even close to being enough, but he’s grateful nonetheless. 

He tries watching the game with his dad, Becca and Dave for a while, but he gives up pretty quickly. Football’s never been his thing. 

Instead, he goes to the kitchen to help his mom with the food. Knowing her, she’s been up since before dawn, prepping everything for tonight’s meal. He knows the turkey’s been in a brine since last night, the dough for the rolls has been in the fridge since yesterday, and the potatoes are already peeled and in a pot of cold water. 

“Need any help?” he asks, looking for something to get his mind off of things.

“The sprouts need attention,” she says, passing over two long branches of Brussels Sprouts. 

He stands at the kitchen sink, paring and peeling. He hears a yell from the living room, his father and Becca screaming at the football game, and for a second his heart stops, because he thinks he hears Steve. Then he remembers that it’s Dave instead, and his stomach drops.

Beside him, his mother cleans the sweet potatoes and chatters on about work, her new assistant is getting on well and did Bucky know that Becca’s decided to go back for her Master’s degree? 

He makes all the appropriate noises, but he knows his mind is elsewhere. It’s just...is Sam’s mom making candied sweet potatoes  _ and _ sweet potato hash? Does she know that Steve actually likes the dark meat and will she make a separate pan of dry stuffing because the wet stuff makes Steve gag?

His mom gives him a bump to his hip, startling him out of his thoughts. “Want to talk about it?” she asks

He does, but he has no idea what to say. It’s just...Steve’s been the one he talks all of his problems out with, has been for years and years. How does he do that now that Steve is the problem?

Instead, he puts on a brave face and finds a smile for his mother. “I’m okay,” he says, giving her a grin. The sad smile she responds with tells him he hasn’t fooled her one bit.

The rest of the day goes okay. He catches up with Becca and Dave over Mom’s amazing artichoke dip, and he shares a couple of beers with his dad, who finally, graciously, turns off the television. After a while, he goes back to the kitchen to help with the last bits of prep: making the mashed potatoes, testing the cauliflower gratin for doneness and helping Mom pile stuffing into her acorn-shaped casserole dish.

It’s not until dinner’s over and he’s clearing the table that he loses it. There among the empty plates and food ready to be packaged up for leftovers, is the untouched dry stuffing casserole. Seeing that full dish, knowing that it’s only like that because Steve’s not there and that Steve’s not there because...because of Bucky. It’s just too much.

He excuses himself and walks away, eventually finding himself in the basement, where he and Steve spent countless hours playing as kids. It’s where Bucky first confessed to kissing a girl, where Steve came out as bi to Bucky (and where Bucky first realized that he might be bi as well), where Steve told Bucky about his mom being sick, and where he’d come to cry after she’d passed. It was the place where Bucky went to lick his wounds after he’d come in third at the science fair, and where Steve had comforted him when Bucky was the final out in the junior varsity playoffs. It was the safe space that they’d made for one another, where they’d built up trust in one another and where they’d learned to love each other, taking one another as they were, and not wishing for anything more.

It’s as if the essence of their friendship had worked its way into the cement, into the walls and the wood, until it was more than just a room, a space. It was theirs. 

And now Bucky’s here alone, sitting on the couch that saw countless roughhousing moments, countless confessions, countless moments of genuine friendship, and Bucky can’t help but feel that he’s somehow thrown it all away. 

“Honey?” Bucky’s mom comes down the stairs, and Bucky startles to realize he’s been crying. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, sitting beside her son. “Won’t you tell me what’s going on? Steve sounded so unhappy when he called, you’re obviously miserable, and I can’t imagine what on earth might have come between you two boys.”

What does he say to that? Bucky’s torn between protecting Steve’s secret, and turning to his mother for help. Comfort.

“Steve told me he loves me,” Bucky blurts out, not even realizing he’s made a decision.

Mom’s quiet for a moment, her hand warm on Bucky’s back, before she says, “Oh, honey. Did you just find out?”

Bucky’s head whips around toward his mother. “What?” he asks, still processing the words. “You knew?” 

They sympathetic look she gives him makes him feel about five years old. 

“Why the hell didn’t I?” he asks, eyes at the ceiling, hot tears running down his face. 

“I figured you’d see it when you were ready,” she says, and opens her arms to him. 

Bucky doesn’t know when the last time was that he let his mom hold him while he cried. He doesn’t care. It’s what he needs now, and it’s on offer so he’s taking it. The safety and security of his mother’s arms give him the space he needs to feel his feelings, and think through everything that’s happened.

“I think I really blew it,” he ends saying. “I did everything wrong.”

“Oh, hon,” his mom says, rubbing his back. “I doubt you did everything wrong. You two have been through so much. You’ll get through this, too.”

“That’s what he said.”

“And you don’t believe him?” 

“I do, I just...first I told him I didn’t see us together, and then,” Bucky pauses, feeling ashamed all over again. “Then I kissed him. I--I flirted with him.” 

“And how did Steve take that?”

“He told me off. He said I wasn’t letting him get over me and I was being selfish.”

“And were you?” 

“I don’t--I just wanted to see, you know? I wanted to see if maybe we did fit, like he wants.”

She gives him a squeeze before pulling away to look him in the eye. “Did you get your answer?”

Bucky thinks about it. He thinks about how much he’d wanted that kiss, how he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He thinks about how much he’d wanted Steve in that moment. It was like a flood, it was like his entire body was filled with desire and Steve was literally the only thing he wanted, and if he gave into that, then he could see...he could see their whole lives together. 

He could see waking up late on Sunday mornings, with nowhere to be but with each other. House hunting and dinners with friends, the two of them saying goodnight and closing the front door together, sharing a long, lazy kiss. He could see little spats mended with gentle kisses, the way they would drive each other crazy, and how they’d try for each other, try to be better. He could see--one day--a family.

He remembers thinking about all of it, and he remembers being  _ terrified _ .

Bucky doesn’t say anything, but somehow, Mom knows. 

“You know, you have always had courage,” she says. “You’ve never been afraid to stand up for what’s right, what you believe in. It’s how you found Steve to begin with.”

Bucky smiles at the memory: Steve getting the snot kicked out of him by an older kid, and Bucky standing up to the jerk, telling him to pick on someone his own size. Between the two of them, they’d managed to send the kid packing, and had been fast friends, ever since. 

“Do you remember,” she asks, “when you were trying to decide where to go to school. You wanted MIT, but you almost went to NYU.” 

“Yeah,” he says. “I was...I thought if I didn’t stay close, Steve might...find a new best friend. 

“And what happened instead?”

Bucky thinks back to college, all the late night phone calls, the two of them whispering secrets in the dark. He remembers how it felt, to have one person who he could count on. One person who knew everything about him, and loved him anyway.

It was the greatest feeling in the world.

God, he’s an idiot.

“I’m in love with him,” Bucky says. “I think...I think I’ve always been.” He draws away to look at his mom. “I have a Master’s degree in Engineering from MIT. How am I this stupid?”

She laughs and holds him close. “I wouldn’t call it stupid,” she says. “I’d just say the only thing you’ve ever been afraid of is losing Steve Rogers.”

“What if I have?” he asks. “What if he won’t...you know…”

Just then, Bucky’s phone chirps. It’s the new text message tone that Bucky assigned specifically to Steve, so that he’d know to check it even if he was busy. 

**SGR:** Happy Thanksgiving Jerk

Bucky reads the text and laughs through his tears, looking up and wiping them away. He tilts the phone to his mom so that she can see the message. 

Mom smiles and gives him one last squeeze. “Why don’t I wrap up some pie for you? I made that chocolate bourbon pecan that he likes.”

“I…” Bucky stops, then squeezes his mom tight, starling a laugh out of her. “That will be perfect. Thanks, Mom.” 

She gives him one more smile before heading up the stairs. “Mom!” Bucky calls. “Can you add some stuffing?”

“Already done,” she answers. 

Bucky grins again, then looks down at his phone. For once in his life, he knows exactly what to say. 

**JBB:** Happy Thanksgiving punk. I’m coming over. I HAVE THE PIE.

**SGR:** …

**SGR:** …

**SGR:** Okay. See you.

Bucky reads the text and rolls his eyes. He could read Steve hesitancy in the way that he didn’t respond right away. It looked like he’d started, stopped and started again, and whatever, Steve.

Bucky’s coming over and he’s got a thing or two to say. He only hopes that Steve is ready to hear it. 

.

When Steve opens his front door, he’s not sure what the expect. He knew this was going to be hard, all this time away from Bucky. But he also knows it’s necessary. He’s never going to be able to get over Bucky if Bucky’s always around. Facts are facts. 

But when he opens the door, he can see that Bucky’s been crying. His eyes are rimmed with red and bloodshot, and not the kind of bloodshot that comes from Becca pouring the eggnog. And its fucked, but all Steve wants to do is take Bucky in his arms and comfort him.

Hell, ever since that kiss, all he’s wanted is Bucky right back there in his arms. He’s always thought they’d have amazing chemistry. It hurts a little bit more to know that he was right. God, he can’t do this.

“Buck,” Steve says, standing next to the door.

Bucky looks at him with his patented ‘give me a fucking break’ look, and pushes past Steve. 

“It’s not a great time,” Steve says. “I’m sorry, I just--”

“Can it. Here’s the pie,” Bucky says, pushing a bag of food onto Steve. “Mom sent stuffing too. I’m in love with you.”

“That’s really good of her Buck, but I still--”

“I’m in love with you,” Bucky says again and Steve stops, and blinks at him, trying to process the words. 

“I know,” Bucky says, and turns to shut the front door. “I’m in love with you, and I think I probably have been for a really long time, Steve. I’m in love with you and it’s fucking terrifying, and I know we should probably talk and I know you might not believe me, but I’m in love with you and I really want to kiss you again, so can I just have that, please?” 

Steve blinks, looks at Bucky, and blinks again. “You’re in love with me?” he finally says, and drops the bag of food. 

“Yeah, pal,” Bucky says. “Since, like, forever, only I’m an idiot and I just figured it out, and I’m sorry, Steve. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that’s what was happening, and I’m sorry you had to be the only one in this for so long, and I’m so sorry that I hurt you. I--”

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, okay. I just, I won’t blame you if you changed your mind, or whatever, I mean--”

“Bucky!” Steve’s tone is firm but his smile is warm because this idiot, honestly. 

“What?”

“Shut up,” Steve says, and then he does the thing he’s dreamed about for so long: He reaches out and puts both hands on Bucky’s hips and tugs, and Bucky comes, with a startled, hopeful little smile on his face. 

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, and his eyes start to water again, and he bites his bottom lip, looking up at Steve, and looking soft, soft, soft. 

When Steve leans forward, Bucky leans in. Steve cups the side of Bucky’s jaw and holds him there, wanting nothing more than to keep him right where he needs him, which is right next to Steve, always. 

“You’re sure?” Steve asks, and Bucky smiles and nods. 

“So sure.” 

“No changing your mind?”

“I promise,” Bucky says, and Steve can see it there in his eyes, the certainty, and...and the love. 

Bucky Barnes loves him. It’s so much more than he thought he could have. 

“Steve,” Bucky says. “I’m dying here.”

Steve chuckles but gives Bucky what he wants. 

That first kiss is soft. It’s a warm, sweet brushing of lips, and it pulls a noise from Bucky that Steve wants to taste again and again.

Everything about this feels right. Everything about this feels incredible, like each piece of him is finally home, finally content. It’s joyful and Steve gets to have it. This is his. 

He never thought this would happen for him. 

As the kiss grows heated, he tugs Bucky in toward the couch. He walks them both there, then sits down, and pulls Bucky down on top of him. 

“We’re gonna talk,” Steve says, trading kisses with Bucky.

“Uh huh,” Bucky answers. “I know.”

“I mean it,” Steve says, and starts sucking a mark against Bucky’s collarbone.

“Fuck,” Bucky gasps, and holds Steve’s head in place. “Fuck yes, mark me up.”

Steve grins against his task, then pulls away, examining his work with a smile. 

“Mark you, huh?”

Bucky blushes, pink staining the tops of his cheeks. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Steve says. “I can’t wait to find out every single one of your kinks.”

It should be weird, he thinks, as he slips his hands up under Bucky’s shirt, feeling the expanse of smooth, warm skin there. They’ve never been ones to share intimate details, and it should be weird, but it isn’t at all. It’s nice and it’s real, Bucky here in his arms, sighing into Steve’s kisses. 

It feels like it’s maybe too easy, but it’s not. This isn’t some stranger here in Steve’s arms, grinding down against him. It’s Bucky, and he knows Bucky. Bucky who smells like safety and comfort and home. Which makes him remember what Bucky said, and Steve finds he can’t let it go.

“Wait,” Steve says, just as Bucky grinds down against him, pulling a moan from both of them. “You said terrifying.” He pulls back to look at Bucky, and Bucky looks back. He can see it there in his eyes, too. Bucky’s scared. 

“Why is this terrifying?” he asks, because it’s not to him. Not even a little. It doesn’t quite make sense that Bucky’s scared, unless it means that Bucky’s unsure…. “Buck?”

Bucky groans and leans his head on Steve’s shoulder. “We can’t go back to kissing?”

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky and holds him close because he’s allowed now and he wants to. 

It’s nice, being allowed. 

“Fine,” Bucky sighs, and leans back on Steve’s thighs so that he can look at him when he speaks. “Remember when we went to Vegas? We checked in and went out to the casino, and I put all my money on black.”

“Yeah, and you’re were lucky. If that hadn’t hit, you’d’ve been out of cash in the first ten minutes.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “But I was okay with losing. It was only money, you know?”

And no, Steve definitely does not know. Money’s never been an issue for Bucky like it has been for Steve. 

“Being with you? Trying this? This is putting everything on black. If we lose, we lose everything, Steve. You know if this doesn’t work that we’ll never be the same. Not even close.”

Steve sobers at that, because yeah, he does know. He’s thought about the risks for a long time. He’s thought about the risks but all the while, he’s known that they don’t matter. Because the rewards...the rewards of having this, Bucky warm and smiling at him, Bucky taking his kisses and trading them back for more. That’s worth every risk. 

“You’ve thought about this,” Steve finally says. 

“Yeah,” Bucky says and his blue eyes are so earnest. “But I also think it’s worth it. We’re worth it. For this,” he says, and then strokes his thumb against Steve’s jaw, cupping his cheek. 

Steve watches as Bucky comes closer, his eyes on Steve’s, then on Steve’s mouth, and then Steve is being kissed for all he’s worth. He’s being kissed like he’s the reason Bucky has a mouth, like his only reason for being is to be kissed, and kissed, and kissed some more.

When they finally break for breath, Bucky looks down at him, naked hunger on his face. “We gotta slow down if you want to take this slow.”

“I don’t think I said anything about taking this slow. Jesus, Buck, I’ve been waiting for years.”

Bucky doesn’t answer, just dives back into kissing Steve, but this time letting his hands wander until they’re under Steve’s shirt, until they’re stroking up his chest, before Bucky pulls the shirt over his head.

Then he leans back and looks, his eyes taking in every inch of Steve’s body. 

“You’ve seen me without a shirt on before, Buck.”

“Yeah, but now I’m allowed to look. Jesus, Steve, look at you.”

He runs his fingertips over Steve’s pecs with reverence on his face, and Steve feels himself color. He looks away, taking Bucky’s hands in his. 

“Oh, hell no,” Bucky says. “You’re gonna be my boyfriend, that comes with certain privileges. Like I get to look at you all I want.”

Then Bucky bends and starts kissing his way down Steve’s chest. 

“Bucky….”

When Bucky fastens his mouth onto one of Steve’s nipples while rubbing the other with his thumb, Steve can’t hide his gasp. 

“Too rough?” Bucky asks, and Steve can only shake his head no, looking at Bucky’s bottom lip, shiny and red. 

“I like it,” Steve finally stammers. 

Licking his lips with a wicked grin, Bucky says, “Maybe I’m not the only one who likes being marked up.”

“Only one way to find out,” Steve replies, and Bucky grins at the challenge. 

He kisses and nips and licks his way down Steve’s body, until he’s on his knees in front of Steve. He sucks a mark against one of Steve’s hip bones, and Steve pants and moans and gasps his way through it, simultaneously fighting the urge to keep Bucky there and to throw him off.

When Bucky's done, he rubs his palm against Steve’s obvious erection and grins. He’s gorgeous. His lips are full and swollen from kissing, his eyes a little hazy, and he’s looking up at Steve like Steve is the best thing he’s ever seen. 

“One of these days,” Bucky says, “I’m gonna get my mouth on that ass, Rogers. And when I do, you’re gonna have to beg me to stop.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, suddenly breathless with want. “Yeah, I want that.” 

“What else do you want?” Bucky asks. 

“Everything,” Steve says. “You. I want all of it.” He reaches down and takes Bucky’s hands in his, and Bucky smiles up at him. 

“You’re such a sap,” Bucky says, but his smile is huge and his eyes are bright and Steve knows that Bucky loves it. 

“I’m your sap,” Steve says, and Bucky’s grin brightens. “As for the rest of it? Let’s just say I have several fantasies I’d like to explore.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. And in several of them, you’re the one begging me.” He delivers the line with a cocky grin and watches as Bucky’s eyes darken. 

“Bedroom,” Bucky says, standing and pulling Steve with him. “Bedroom now.”

Steve laughs, but follows him nonetheless. They have three whole days left in the weekend. Steve doesn't want to miss a minute of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> December will be a quick little wrap up chapter and will post asap; it's mostly written. :) My apologies to all of you for not getting to review replies. This chapter was a struggle, and you've all been lovely and patient. Please know that I have read and LOVED every single comment. <3 
> 
> You can find me most places as chicklette (tumblr, pillowfort, dreamwidth) and on twitter as chicklette_. Come say hey. :)


	12. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God only knows what I'd be without you. - The Beach Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so much love for alittleblackfox! She really helped me wrangle this chapter (which did not want to be born), and I am so very grateful to her for her support and guidance. I am so lucky to have someone so talented in my corner. <3 Thank you, Fox.

“If you love me, you won’t do this,” Bucky says, refusing to open his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “You know I have to.”

“You don’t. You’re being mean, Steve.”

“Baby, come on,” Steve says, running his hand down the expanse of Bucky’s back. “It’s Christmas. Santa came.”

Bucky squints one distrustful eye open at him.

“Did Santa bring Starbucks?”

“Santa did,” Steve says. He gives up on fighting the fond smile he’s been holding back, and instead grins as he produces the required Peppermint Mocha latte.

Bucky rolls onto his back with a grin, eyes shining bright. Steve knows he’s still half asleep, and will be until the sugar and caffeine have a chance to kick in, but he’ll take that sleepy smile every damned day for the rest of his life. 

The last month with Bucky has been good. So good. So much better than even he dreamed it could be. Most nights when he goes to sleep, it’s with Bucky sprawled on top of him, pressing close and holding on, like Steve might somehow get lost in the night. By the time Steve wakes, their positions are usually reversed, Bucky having migrated to one side of the bed, and Steve following, snuggling close to Bucky even as he kicks off the sheets. Apparently the two of them create a lot of body heat. 

Steve lets Bucky get one good sip of the coffee before he takes it away. 

“Hey!”

“It’ll be in the bathroom. Come on, Buck. If you want to be at your folks by ten, you gotta get in the shower.”

Bucky grumbles but fights off the sheets before hooking an arm around Steve’s neck and kissing the spot where his neck and shoulder meet. “No fair,” he mumbles. “You showered without me.”

“I went to the gym without you too.”

Groaning, Bucky says, “You’re the actual worst, Steve. Who goes to the gym on Christmas?”

“I don’t seem to recall you complaining about my gym habits last night,” Steve replies. He turns and gives Bucky a kiss, and Bucky deepens it, tugging Steve back down on top of him. 

Steve knows if he doesn’t put a stop to it, that Bucky’ll have Steve naked and sweating inside of the next fifteen minutes.

“We’ll be late,” Steve says, tasting the peppermint chocolate coffee on Bucky’s lips.

“I told Mom we wouldn’t be there until noon. Come on,” Bucky says, and hooks a leg around Steve’s waist. 

“You little liar,” Steve says. “You told me ten.”

“Yeah and if I told you noon I’d be hitting the shower at eleven and missing out on Christmas blowjobs. 

“Mmm,” Steve says, breath catching at the way Bucky is sucking on his neck. 

“Gonna have to wear a turtleneck,” Bucky says. 

“You just like the way it looks with the new beard.”

“You’re not lying. Come on,” he says, wrapping both legs around Steve’s waist. “Don’t even have to prep me. Still ready from last night.”

“Oh are you?” Steve asks, fingers sliding below the sheets to check for himself. They’d had nothing short of a carnal feast the night before, neither of them wanting to stop until the other was exhausted, both of them still marvelling that this is allowed; they can touch and taste to their heart’s content. They belong to each other. 

“Shit. Changed my mind,” Bucky says, wincing. “If I’d known how big your dick was, Rogers--”

“We’d have gotten here twice as fast.” Steve says with a grin.

“Fuck off,” Bucky says smiling, taking all the bite out of the words. “C’mere and let me give you your present. You’ve been a very good boy.”

Steve can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him. “I think you’ve officially ruined Santa Claus for me.”

“Good,” Bucky says. “Mine’s the only lap I want you sitting on anyway.” It’s a joke, but Bucky has shown himself to have a little bit of a possessive streak, now that Steve is finally his. It’s nothing Steve’s worried about. In fact, it’s kind of nice, knowing that Bucky wants him like that. Bucky who’d once had an open relationship his junior year now gets a little growly when the checker at the grocery store flirts with Steve. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve laughs. 

“And you’re hard. Now get up here.”

Steve knees his way up to where Bucky’s laying and watches as Bucky unfastens Steve’s belt and jeans. Bucky shoves the jeans down just far enough to get at Steve’s dick, and Steve watches the way Bucky licks and bites his lip before opening his mouth. 

It amazes him, how much Bucky wants him. He never thought he’d have this, and now that he does, it feels a little like a dream. 

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he says, watching as Bucky takes him in. He can’t help the filthy things he says, just like he can’t help but notice how much they turn Bucky on. Which turns Steve on. It’s a problem, and one he’s glad to have. 

He sinks his fingers into Bucky’s hair and pulls, loving the way that Bucky goes lax for him, letting Steve set the pace. He feels Bucky’s fingers tighten against his thighs, urging Steve on. Bucky’s got a little bit of a submissive streak, and it compliments Steve’s natural inclinations. They haven’t really explored it yet, only played at the edges, but it’s something they both seem to be pleased by. It surprises Steve, given how handsy Bucky is, that he’s so willing to surrender to Steve, but Steve...he loves it. After all those years of pining, knowing that he has carte blanche to do maybe everything he’s ever dreamed of? Steve’s a fan.

He’s looking forward to more. 

When Bucky slides his fingers into the cleft of Steve’s ass, he’s rewarded with a sigh and A small, soft, “oh.”

Bucky prefers to bottom, and that’s just fine by Steve, but there’s something almost luxurious about the idea of having Bucky inside of him, something hedonistic. But not today. 

“Buck,” Steve groans, and gets a muffled “mmmff,” in reply. 

“One of these days,” Steve groans. “I’m gonna ride you.” 

Bucky makes a pushed out little sound around Steve’s dick, and it brings a smile to Steve’s face. 

“But for now, sweetheart” Steve says, and pulls away from Bucky only to lean down and give him a heated kiss. “For now,” he says again, sliding down Bucky’s body before taking his time kissing and licking and sucking, until Bucky is a writhing, sweating mess. 

They can clean up in the shower. 

Later, Steve spends the day surrounded by family. 

When the arrive at the Barnes home, Steve feels little bit nervous. They walk in together, and when Winnie glances at their fingers, entwined, she smiles a little brighter, welcoming Steve and Bucky with the usual hugs and kisses, looking away when her eyes get too shiny. George welcomes them too, hugging them close and blinking hard, giving Steve an extra pat on the back. (Later, he’ll call Steve “son,” with a pleased, beaming smile that leaves Steve feeling loved down to his toes.) Becca hugs them both hard and gives them a fierce “About time,” before turning to look at her boyfriend with the kind of easy warmth that Steve is only now understanding. 

As the day goes on, Winnie pops in and out of the kitchen, bearing platters of hors d'oeuvres and snacks, before returning to her cutting and chopping, humming along to the radio that’s playing non-stop Christmas music. Each time they offer to help, she shoos them away. The kitchen is her element, her domain, and Steve would feel bad except that he knows how much she loves this part. Besides, they all end up crowding into the kitchen anyway, stealing bites and bits, trying to help keep up with the dishes. When Steve looks around, he sees that it’s like every other Christmas he’s had with the Barnes family, and it makes his heart feel so very full and warm. 

By the time dessert comes, Bucky’s springtime prediction comes true: As Winnie brings out a chocolate mint torte for dessert, Dave gets down one knee and, with a shaking voice, asks Becca to marry him. Luckily there was still champagne in the fridge, so they all raise a glass. Steve feels absolutely buoyant on the tide of all that joy. 

Less obvious, but no less thrilling, is the way that Bucky hovers at Steve’s side. He casually keeps a hand on Steve at almost all times, either holding Steve’s hand, or putting one hand on his knee, any of a hundred little touches that say “mine, mine, this is mine.” Steve is smitten. 

Later, they snuggle down into bed together, sleepy and so full, and happy. They are  _ happy.  _ Steve hasn’t been this happy in years. It’s something he never thought he’d have for himself. As he turns over to sleep, holding Bucky close, smelling the clean, warm scent of his shampoo, he thinks about his mom. He hopes that she can see him, and see how happy he his. He hopes that she is just as happy; he has a good feeling she is. 

.

“3...2...1...Happy New Year!!” The crowd at Stark’s annual New Year’s Eve party erupts into cheers and laughter. Steve takes a smiling sip of his champagne, toasting the crowd of friends and acquaintances around him, before before Bucky growls and wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling him in for a long, deep kiss. 

“I love you,” Bucky says, his eyes bright and excited. God, he looks so good in love. “Happy new year, punk.”

“You too, jerk,” Steve says. 

He thinks about where he was at this time last year, groaning into his champagne, wishing that Bucky was his, knowing in his heart that it would never happen. He wonders sometimes if i was all a waste. If maybe he should have told Bucky how he felt all those years ago, back when his crush first began.

But no. Back then, it wouldn’t have taken much to blow their fragile, teen-aged love apart. Back then, neither of them were the men that they are now: Confident and sure in a love that took years to arrive, but that arrived right on time. 

“Hey,” Bucky says, eyes soft and warm. “Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere,” Steve says. “Just thinking about how we got here.”

Grinning, Bucky kisses the corner of his mouth. “You’re such a sap, Rogers.”

“You love it,” Steve dares. 

“I absofuckinglutely do. Hey, you wanna go upstairs, see if we can find an empty broom closet?” Bucky waggles his eyebrows and Steve can’t help but laugh.

“You’re incorrigible,” Steve says, sighing into a soft kiss. 

“You love me.”

“I really do,” Steve says. 

As the new year dawns, Steve can’t help but be excited. There are so many first coming their way, so much joy. He knows they’ll have hard times; he’s not naive. But he also knows that with Bucky by his side? Together, they can weather any storm. 

“C’mon,” Bucky says, smiling at Steve with a wink. “Let’s go see the future.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize to you all for not responding to your wonderful, wonderful comments. For the first time since I've been writing, I just got completely overwhelmed and at this point digging out seems like the Most Daunting of Tasks. I'll try. I can't promise. But please know that I have read and reread every single comment and they've made me feel so happy. <3 <3 <3 Thank you all, so much. <3 <3 <3
> 
> I am chicklette_ on Twitter, and sometimes I talk about writing there. (I'm chicklette on tumblr, pillowfort, dreamwidth, etc., but mostly I'm on twitter these days).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Runnin' down a dream (goin' wherever it leads)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18365474) by [najak3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/najak3/pseuds/najak3)




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